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No. 198. 



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LOVELL'S LIBRARY. 



c-A.T.A.r.oc3--crHi. 



i. Hjnpwion, by H. W. Longfellow. . .20 
2. Outre-Mer, by H. W. Longfellow... i!0 

8. The Happy Boy, by Bjymson 10 

4 Ame, by BjOmaon ,.10 

,.6, Frankenstein; or, the Modern Pro- 
metheus, by Mrs. Shelley JO 

6. The Last of the Mohicans, by J. 

Feniinore Cooper 20 

7. Cly tie, by Josei)h Hatton 20 

8. The Moonstone, by Collins, P't I,. 10 

9. The Moonstone, by Collins, Pt 11.10 

10. Oliver Twist, by Charics Dickens. 20 

11. The Cciming Race, by Lytton 10 

12. Leila, by Lord Lytton 10 

13. The Three Spaniards, by Walker,. 20 

14. The Tricks of the Greeks Unveiled; 

or, the Art of Winning; at every | 
Game, by Robert Houdin ".20 I 

15. L'Abb6 Conetantin, by Hal6vy. .20 
10. Freckles, by R. F. Redcliff 20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by Harriett Jay. 20 

18. They Were Married ! by Walter Be- 

•ant and James Rice 10 

19. Seekers after God, by Canon Farrar. iO 

20. The Spanish Nun, by Thos. De 

Quincey ' 10 

81. The Green Mountain Boy?, by 

Judge D. P. ThompHon 20 

22. Fleurette, by Eugene Scribe 20 

2?. Second Thoughts, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

2-1 The New Magdalen, by Wilkle 

Collins 20 

25. Divorce, by Margaret Lee 20 

26. Life of Washington, by Henley.. -iO 

27. Social Etiquette, by Mrs. W. A. 
Saville 15, 

Single Heart and Double Face, by 
Charles Reade , ". ' 

Irene, by Carl Detlef 

ViceVers^; or, a Le^isou to li'ath, : 
by F. Anstey 

31. Ernest Maltravers, by Lord Lytton .;;!0 

32. The Haunted House and Calderon 

the Courtier, by Lord Lytton... 10 : 

83. John Halifax, by Miss Mitlock .... 20 

84. 800 Leagues on the Amazon, being | 

Part I of the Giant. Raft, by ■ 
Jules Verne 10 ' 

85. The Cryptogram, being Part II of I 

the Giant Raft, by Juleti Veriie..l0 i 
36, Lifeof Marion, byHorryaiidWe..%Tis. 20 ' 
87. Paul and Virginia lU i 

38. Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens. . . .20 | 

39. The Hermits, by Kingsley 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule, and Mar- 
riage of Moira Fergus, by Wm. 
Black 10 

A Marriage in High Life, bv Octave 

Feuillet ". 20 

Robin, by Mrs. Parr 20 

i 43. Two on a Tower, byfThomns Hardy . 20 
4A. Kasselas, by Samuel Johnson jO 



28. 



30. 



41. 



l: 



45. Alice, or, the Mysteriee, being Part 

H of Ernest Maltravers 20 

46. Duke of Kandos, by A. Matthey.. .20 

47. Baron Munchausen 10 

48. A Princess of Thule, by Wm. Blade. 20 
40. The Secret Despatch, by Grant 20 

60. Early Days of Christianity, by Cb'^: 

on Farrar, D,D., Parc'l L..20 

Earlv Day.ior Chrlstianitv, by Can- 
on Farr.T,r, D. D. , V:\Tt 11 20 

61. Vicar of Wakefield, by Oliver Gold- 

smith 10 

52. Progref.3 and Poverty, by Henry 

George 20 

53. The Spy, by J. Feniniore Cooper... 20 

54. East Lynnc. by Mrs. Henry Wood.20 

55. A Strange Siory, by Lord Lytton. .20 
50, Adam Bede, by Geo. Eliot, Part I.. 16 

Adam Bode, by Geo. Eliot, Part II. . 15 

57. The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon. 20 

58. Pc>rtia, or, By PasBions Rocked, by 

The DuchfPfl ... 20 

59. Last Doys of Pompeii, by Lytton. 20 

60. The Two Duchesses, lieing the se- 

quel to the Duko of Kandoa, by 

A. Mathey 20 

(il. Tom Brown''8 School Days at Rug- 
by SO 

09. TVift Wooing O't, by Mrs, Alexander, 

Part I... 16 

The Wooing O'c, bvMr^. Alexander* 
Part II 15 

63. The Vendetta, Tales of Love and 

Paii^sion, by Honore de Balzac. 20 

64. Hypatia, bv Rev. Kin(i;sley, Part I.. 15 
Hypatia. by Kingsley, Part II. ...15 

65. Selma, by Mrs. J. Gregory Smith, .15 

66. Margaret and her Bridei^uiaids.. .20 
r>7. Horse Shoe Robinson, Part 1 15 

f[' Tse Shoe Robinson, Part II 15 

Uulliver's Travels, by Dean Swift.. 20 
. /ano.i Barton, by George Eliot... .10 
0. The Berber, by W. E. Mayo 20 

71. Silas Marner, by George Eliot. ...30 

72. The Queen of the County 50 

73. Life of Cromwell, by Paxton Hood.. 15 

74. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte* . . .20 j 

75. Child's History of England, by ; 

Charics Dickens 20 ; 

76. Molly Bttwii. by The Duchess 20 | 

77. Pillone, by Wiiliam Bergsbe J5 

78. Phyllis, by the Duche.'^a ... jA. .20 

79. Romola, by George Eliot, Parrx.. .15 
Romola, by George Eliot, Part II. .15 

80. Science ill Short Chapters .20 

81. Zanoni. bv Lord Lvtton 20 

82. A Daughter of Het'h. bvW. Black. 20 
S3. The Right and Wronp Uses of the 

Bible, by Rev. It. Keber Newton. 20 
84 Night and Morning, by Lord Lvtton 

Part I ;.. ..15 

Night and Morning, by Lord Lytton 
Partll.. 1» 



I X 




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"BEYOND THE SUNKISE:" 

Observations by Two Travelers. 

1 vol, 12mo, cloth, gilt, $1.00 

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TALES 



OF 



A TEAYELLEE 



BY 



WASHINGTON IRVING, 



NEW YOEK. 
JOHN W. LOYELL COMPANY, 

11 & 16 Vesey Street, 



ts 



V 



\" 






TALES OF A TRAYELLEll 



PART FIRST. 



STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 

I'll tell you more ; there was a fish taken, 

A monstrous fish, with a sword by's side, a long sword, 

A pike iu's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun, 

And letters of mart in's mouth, from the Duke of Florence. 

Cleanthes. This is a monstrous lie. 

Tony. I do confess it. 
Do you think I'd tell you truths? 

Fletcher's Wipe for a Month. 

[The following adventures were related to me by the same 
nervous gentleman who told me the romantic tale of The Stout 
Gentleman, published in Bracebridge Hall. 

It is very singular, that although I expressly stated that story 
to have been told to me, and described the very person who 
told it, stiU it has been received as an adventure that happened 
to myself. Now, I protest I never met v^dth any adventure of 
the kind. I should not have grieved at :his, had it not been 
intim^ated by the author of Waveriey, in an introduction to his 
romance of Peveril of the Peak, that he was himself the Stout 
Gentleman alluded to. I have ever since been importuned by 
letters and questions from gentlemen, and particularly from 
ladies without number, touching what I had seen of the gi-eat 
unknown. 

Now, all this is extremely tantalizing. It is like being con- 
gratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a blank ; for 
I have just as great a desire as any one of the public to pene- 
trate the mystery of that very singular personage, whose voice 
fills every corner of the world, without any one being able to 
teU from whence it comes. He who keeps up such a wonder- 
ful and whimsical incognito: whom nobody knows, and yet 
whom every body thinks he can swear to. 



6 TALE8 OF A TRAVELLER. 

My friend, the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man of 
very shy, retired habits, complains that he has been exces- 
sively annoyed in consequence of its getting about in his neigh- 
borhood that he is the fortunate personage. Insomuch, that 
he has become a character of considerable notoriety in two or 
three country tov/ns ; and has been repeatedly teased to exhibit 
himself at blue-stocking parties, for no other reason than that 
of being "the gentleman who has had a glimpse of the author 
of Waverley." 

Indeed, the poor man has grown ten times as nervous as 
ever, since he has discovered, on such good authority, who the 
stout gentleman was; and will never forgive hmiself for not 
having made a more resolute effort to get a full sight of him. 
He has anxiously endeavored to caU up a recollection of what 
he saw of that portly personage; and has ever since kept a 
curious eye on all gentlemen of more than ordinary dimen- 
sions, whom he has seen getting into stage coaches. All in 
vain ! The features he had caught a glimpse of seem common 
to the whole race of stout gentlemen ; and the great unknown 
remains as great an unknown as ever.] 



A HUNTING DINNER. 

I WAS once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox- 
hunting old Baronet, who kept Bachelor's Hall in jovial style, 
in an ancient rook-haunted family mansion, in one of the mid- 
dle counties. He had been a devoted admirer of the fair sex in 
his young days ; but having travelled much, studied the sex in 
various countries with distinguished success, and returned 
home profoundly instructed, as he supposed, in the ways of 
woman, and a perfect master of the art of pleasing, he had the 
•mortification of being jilted by a little boarding school girl, 
who was scarcely versed in the accidence of love. 

The Baronet was completely overcome by such an incredible 
defeat; retired from the world in disgust, put himself under 
the government of his housekeeper, and took to fox-hunting 
hke a perfect Jehu. Whatever poets may say to the contrary, 
a man will grow out of love as he grows old ; and a pack of fox 
hounds may chase out of his heart even the memory of a 



A HUNTING DINNER. 7 

boarding-school goddess. The Baronet was when I saw him as 
merry and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a hound ; 
and the love he had once felt for one woman had spread itself 
over the whole sex ; so that there was not a pretty face in the 
whole country round, but came in for a share. 

The dmner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our host hav- 
ing no ladies in his household to summon us to the drawing- 
room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor sway, unrivalled 
by its potent enemy the tea-kettle. The old hall in which we 
dined echoed to bursts of robustious fox-huntmg merriment, 
that made the ancient antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, 
however, the wiwQ and wassail of mine host began to operate 
upon bodies already a little jaded by the chase. The choice 
spirits that flashed up at the beginning of the dinner, sparkled 
for a time, then gradually went out one after another, or only 
emitted now and then a faint gleam from the socket. Some of 
the briskest talkers, who had given tongue so bravely at the 
first burst, fell fast asleep ; and none kept on their way but 
certain of those long-winded iDrosers, who, like short-legged 
hounds, worry on unnoticed at the bottom of conversation, 
but are sure to be in at the death. Even these at length sub- 
sided into silence ; and scarcely any thing was heard but the 
nasal communications of two or three veteran masticators, 
who, having ]dQe,'[i silent while a.wake, vv^ere indemnifying the 
company in their sleep. 

At length the amiouncement of tea and coffee in the cedar 
parlor roused all hands from this temporary torpor. Every 
one awoke marvellously renovated, and while sipping the re- 
freshing beverage out of the Baronet's old-fashioned hereditary 
china, began to think of departing for their several homes. 
But here a sudden difficulty arose. While Y\^e had been pro- 
longing our repast, a heavy winter storm had set in, with 
snow, rain, and sleet, driven by such bitter blasts of wind, 
that they threatened to penetrate to the very bone. 

"It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to think of 
putting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, gentle- 
men^ I hold you my guests for tliis night at least, and will 
have your quarters prepared accordingly." 

The unruly weather, ^vhich became more and more tempes- 
tuous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unanswerable. The 
only question was, whether such an unexpected accession of 
company, to an already crowded house, would not put the 
housekeeper to her trumps to acconunodate them. 



8 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 

''Pshaw," cried mine host, "did you ever know of a Bach- 
elor's Hall that was not elastic, and able to accommodate twice 
as many as it could hold?" So out of a good-humored pique 
the housekeeper was summoned to consultation before us all. 
The old lady appeared, in her gala suit of faded brocade, which 
rustled with flurry and agitation, for in spite of mine host's 
bravado, she was a httle perplexed. But in a bachelor's house, 
and with bachelor guests, these matters are readily managed. 
There is no lady of the house to stand upon squeamish points 
about lodging guests in odd holes and corners, and exposing 
the shabby parts of the establishment. A bachelor's house- 
keeper is used to shifts and emergencies. After much worry- 
ing to and fro, and divers consultations about the red room, 
and the blue room, and the chintz room, and the damask room, 
and the little room with the bow window, the matter was 
finally arranged. 

When all this was done, we were once more summoned to 
the standing rural amusement of eating. The time that had 
been consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment 
and consultation of the cedar parlor, was sufficient, in the 
opinion of the rosy-faced butler, to engender a reasonable 
appetite for supper. A slight repast had therefore been tricked 
up from the residue of dinner, consisting of cold sirloin of beef; 
hashed venison; a devilled leg of a turkey or so, and a few 
other of those light articles taken by country gentlemen to 
ensure sound sleep and heavy snoring. 

The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's wit ; and 
a great deal of excellent humor was expended upon the per- 
plexities of *mine host and his housekeeper, by certain married 
gentlemen of the company, who considered themselves privil- 
eged in joking with a bachelor's establishment. From this the 
banter turned as to what quarters each would find, on being 
thus suddenly billeted in so antiquated a mansion. 

"By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of the 
most merry and boisterous of the party— "by my soul, but I 
should not be surprised if some of those good-looking gentle- 
folks that hang along the walls, should walk about the rooms 
of this stormy night; or if I should find the ghost of one of 
these long-waisted ladies turning into my bed in mistake for 
her grave in the church-yard." 

" Do you believe in ghosts, then?" said a thin, hatchet-faced 
gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. 

I had remarked this last personage throughout dinner-time 



TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 9 

for one of those incessant questioners, who seem to have a 
craving, unhealthy appetite in conversation. He ne'v^r seemed 
satisfied with the whole of a story ; never laughed when others 
laughed; but always put the joke to the question. He could 
never enjoy the kernel of the nut, but pestered himself to get 
more out of the shell. 

"Do you believe in ghosts, then?" said the inquisitive gentle- 
man. 

"Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman; "I was 
brought up in the fear and behef of them; we had a Benshee 
in our own family, honey." 

"A Benshee — and what's that?" cried the questioner. 

" Why an old lady ghost that tends upon your real Milesian 
families, and wails at their window to let them know when 
some of them are to die." 

" A mighty pleasant piece of information," cried an elderly 
gentleman, with a knowing look and a flexible nose, to which 
he could give a whimsical twist when he wished to be waggish. 

"By my soul, but I'd have you know it's a piece of distinc- 
tion to be waited upon by a Benshee. It's a proof that one has 
pure blood in one's veins. But, egad, now we're talking of 
ghosts, there never was a house or a night better fitted than 
the present for a ghost adventure. Faith, Sir John, haven't 
you such a thing as a haunted chamber to put a guest in?" 

' ' Perhaps, " said the Baronet, smihng, ' ' I might accommodate 
you even on that point." 

"Oh, I should like it of all things, my jewel. Some dark 
oaken room, with ugly wo-begone portraits that stare dismally 
at one, and about which the housekeeper has a power of de- 
hghtful stories of love and murder. And then a dim lamp, a 
table with a rusty sword across it, and a spectre aU in white to 
draw aside one's curtains at midnight — " 

"In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the table, 
"you put me in mind of an anecdote — " 

"Oh, a ghost story! a ghost story!" was vociferated round 
the board, every one edging his chair a httle nearer. 

The attention of the whole company was now tm*ned upon 
the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side of whose face 
was no match for the other. The eyelid drooped and hung 
down Hke an unhinged window shutter. Indeed, the whole 
side of his head was dilapidated, and seemed like the wing of a 
house shut up and haunted. I'll warrant that side was weU 
stuffed with ghost stories. 



10 TALES OF A TRAVELLEB. 

There was a universal demand for the tale. 

"Nay," said the old gentleman, "it's a mere anecdote — and a 
very commonplace one ; but such as it is you shall have it. It 
is a story that I once heard my uncle tell when I v/as a boy. 
But whether as having happened to himself or to another, I 
cannot recollect. But no matter, it's very hkely it happened to 
himself, for he was a man very apt to meet with strange 
adventures. I have heard him tell of others much more singu- 
lar. At any ra,te, we will suppose it happened to himself." 

"What kind of man was your uncle?" said the questioning 
gentleman. 

"Why, he was rather a dry, shrewd kind of body; a great 
traveller, and fond of telling his adventures." 

"Pray, how old might he have been when this happened?" 

"When what happened?" cried the gentleman with the flexi- 
ble nose, impatiently — " Egad, you have not given any thing a 
chance to happen— come, never mind our uncle's age; let us 
have his adventures." 

The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, the 
old gentleman with the haunted head proceeded. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 

Many years since, a long time before the French revolution, 
my uncle had passed several months at Paris. The Enghsh 
and French were on better terms, in those days, than at pres- 
ent, and mingled cordially together in society. The Enghsh 
went abroad to spend money then, and the French were always 
ready to help them : they go abroad to save money at present, 
and that they can do without French assistance. Perhaps the 
travelling English were fewer and choicer then, than at present, 
when the whole nation has broke loose, and inundated the con- 
tinent. At any rate, they circulated more readily and currently 
in foreign society, and my uncle, during his residence in Paris, 
made many very intimate acquaintances among the French 
noblesse. 

Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in the 
winter-time, in that part of Normandy called the Pays de Caux, 
when, as evening was closing in, he perceived the turrets of an 
ancient chateau rising out of the trees of its walled park, each 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. H 

turret with its high conical roof of gray slate, Kke a candle 
with an extiaguisher on it. 

" To whom does that chateau belong, friend?" cried my uncle 
to a meager, but fiery postillion, who, with tremendous jack 
boots and cocked hat, was floundering on before him. 

"To Monseigneur the Marquis de ," said the postiOion, 

touching his hat, partly out of respect to my uncle, and partly 
out of reverence to the noble name' pronounced. My uncle 
recollected the Marquis for a particular friend in Paris, who 
had often expressed a wish to see him at his paternal chateau. 
My uncle was an old traveller, one that knew how to turn 
tilings to account. He revolved for a few moments in his miud 
how agreeable it would be to his friend the Marquis to be sur- 
prised in tliis sociable way by a pop visit ; and how much more 
agreeable to himself to get into snug quarters in a chateau, and 
have a relish of the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a smack 
of his superior champagne and burgundy ; rather than take up 
with the miserable lodgment, and miserable fare of a country 
inn. In a few minutes, therefore, the meager postilhon was 
cracking his wliip hke a very devil, or like a true Frenchman, 
up the long straight avenue that led to the chateau. 

You have no doubt aU seen French chateaus, as every body 
travels in France nowadays. This was one of the oldest ; stand- 
ing naked and alone, in the midst of a desert of gravel walks and 
cold stone terraces; with a cold-looking formal garden, cut 
into angles and rhomboids; and a cold leafless p?.rk, divided 
geometrically by straight alleys; and two or three noseless, 
cold-looking statues without any clothing; and fountains 
spouting cold water enough to make one's teeth chatter. At 
least, such was the feehng they imparted on the wintry day 
of my uncle's visit ; though, in hot summer weather, I'U warrant 
there was glare enough to scorch one's eyes out. 

The smacking of the postiUion's whip, which grew more and 
more intense the nearer they approached, frightened a flight 
of pigeons out of the dove-cote, and rooks out of the roofs ; and 
finally a crew of servants out of the chateau, with the Marquis 
at their head. Pie was enchanted to see my uncle; for his 
chateau, hke the house of our worthy host, had not many more 
guests at the tune than it could accommodate. So he kissed 
my uncle on each cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered 
him into the castle. 

The Marquis did the honors of his house with the urbanity of 
his country. In fact, he was proud of his old family chateauj 



12 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 

for part of it was extremely old. There was a tower and chapel 
that had been built almost before the memory of man; but the 
rest was more modern ; the castle having been nearly demohshed 
during the wars of the League. The Marquis dwelt upon this 
event with great satisfaction, and seemed really to entertain a 
grateful feeling towards Henry IV., for having thought his 
paternal mansion worth battering down. He had many stories 
to tell of the prowess of his ancestors, and several skull-caps, 
helmets, and cross-bows to show ; and divers huge boots and 
buff jerkins, that had been worn by the Leaguers. Above all, 
there was a two-handled sword, which he could hardly wield ; 
but which he displayed as a proof that there had been giants in 
his family. 

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such gi-eat 
warriors. When you looked at their bluff visages and brawny 
limbs, as depicted in their portraits, and then at the httle 
Marquis, with his spindle shanks ; his sallow lanthern visage, 
flanked with a pair of powdered ear-locks, or ailes de pigeon, 
that seemed ready to fly away with it ; you would hardly believe 
him to be of the same race. But when you looked at the eyes 
that sparkled out like a beetle's from each side of his hooked 
nose, you saw at once that he inherited all the flery spirit of his 
forefathers. In fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, how- 
ever his body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows more 
inflammable, as the earthly particles diminish; and I have seen 
valor enough in a little fiery-hearted French dwarf, to have 
furnished out a tolerable giant. 

When once the Marquis, as he was wont, put on one of the 
old helmets that were stuck up in his haU ; though his head no 
more filled it than a dry pea its pease cod ; yet liis eyes sparkled 
from the bottom of the iron cavern with the brilhancy of car- 
buncles, and when he poised the ponderous two-handled sword 
of his ancestors, you would have thought you saw the doughty 
little David wielding the sword of Gohah, which was unto him 
Uke a weaver's beam. 

However, gentlemen, I am dwelhng too long on this descrip- 
tion of the Marquis and his chateau; ]Dut you must excuse me; 
he was an old friend of my uncle's, and whenever my uncle 
told the story, he was always fond of talking a great deal about 
his host.— Poor little Marquis ! He was one of that handful of 
gallant courtiers, who made such a devoted, but hopeless stand 
in the cause of their sovereign, in the chateau of the Tuilleries, 
against the irruption of the mob, on the sad tenth of August, 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 13 

He displayed the valor of a preux Frencli chevalier to the last ; 
jSourished feebly his little court sword vv^itli a sa-sa ! in face of 
a whole legion ot sans-culottes ; but was pinned to the wall like a 
butterfly, by the pike of a polssarde, and Ms heroic soul was 
borne up to heaven on his ailes de pigeon. 

But all this has nothing to do with mj- story ; to the point 
then : — When the hour a^rrived for retiring for the night, my 
uncle was shown to his room, in a venerp^ble old tower. It was 
the oldest part of the chateau, and had in ancient times been 
the Donjon or stronghold ; of coarse tlie chamber was none of 
the best. The Marquis had put him there, however, because he 
kncw^ him to be a traveller of taste, and fond of antiquities ; 
and also because the better apartments were already occupied. 
Indeed, ke perfectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by 
mentioning the great personages who had once inhabited them, 
all of whom were in some way or other connected v/ith the 
family. If you would take his word for it, John Baliol, or, as 
he called him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of chagrin in this 
very chamber on hearing of the success of his rival, Eobert the 
Bruce, at the battle of Eannockburn; and when he added that 
the Duke de Guise had slept in it during the wars of the League, 
my uncle was fain to felicitate himself upon being honored 
with such distinguished quarters. 

The night was sln^ewd and wuidy, and the chamber none of 
the 'warmest. An old, long-faced, long-bodied ser^sant in quaint 
livery, who attended upon my uncle, threw down an armful of 
wood beside the fire-place, gave a queer look about the room, 
and then wished him hon repos, with a grimace and a shrug 
that would have been suspicious from any other than an old 
French servant. The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, 
enough to strike any one who had read romances with appre- 
hension and foreboding. The windows were high and narrov/, 
and had once been loop-holes, but had been rudely enlarged, as 
weU as the extreme thickness of the waEs would permit; and 
the iU-fitted casements rattled to every breeze. You would 
have thought, on a windy night, some of the old Leaguers were 
tramping and clanking about the apartment in their huge boots 
and rattling spurs. A door which stood ajar, and like a true 
French door w^ould stand ajar, in spite of every reason and 
effort to the contrary, opened upon a long, dark corridor, that 
led the Lord knows whither, and seemed just made for ghosts 
to air themselves in, when they turned out of their graves at 
midnight. Tlie wind would spring up into a hoarse murmur 



14 TALKS OF A TRAVELLER. 

through this passage, and creak the door to and fro, as if some 
dubious ghost were balancing in its mind whether to come in or 
not. In a word, it was precisely the kind of comfortless apart- 
ment that a ghost, if gliost there were in the chateau, would 
single out for its favorite lounge. 

My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet with 
strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. He made 
several attempts to shut the door, but in vain. Not that he 
apprehended any thing, for he was too old a traveller to be 
daunted by a wUd-looking apartment ; but the night, as I have 
said, was cold and gusty, something like the present, and the 
wind howled about the old turret, pretty much as it does round 
this old mansion at this moment ; and the breeze from the long 
dark corridor came in as dam}) and cliiUy as if from a dungeon. 
My uncle, therefore, since he could not close the door, threw a 
quantity of wood on the fire, which soon sent up a flame in the 
great wide-mouthed chimney that illumined the whole chamber, 
and made the shadow of the tongs on the opposite wall, look 
like a long-legged giant. My uncle now clambered on top of 
the half score of mattresses which form a French bed, and 
which stood in a deep recess ; then tucking himself snugly in, 
and burying himself up to the chin in the bed-clothes, he lay 
looking at the fire, and listening to the wind, and chuckling to 
tliink how knowingly he had come over his friend the Marquis 
for a night's lodgings : and so he fell asleep. 

He had not taken above half of his first nap, when he was awak- 
ened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret over his chamber, 
which struck midnight. It v/as just such an old clock as ghosts 
are fond of. It had a deep, dismal tone, and struck so slowly 
and tediously that my uncle thought it would never have done. 
He counted and counted till he was confident he counted thir- 
teen, and then it stopped. 

The fire had burnt low, and the blaze of the last faggot was 
almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which now and 
then lengthened up into little white gleams. My uncle lay with 
liis eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost down to his 
nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle 
up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, the French 
opera, the Coliseum at Eome, Dolly's chop-house in London, 
and aU the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a 
traveller is crammed— in a word, he was just falling asleep. 

Suddenly he was aroused by the sound of foot-steps that 
appeared to be slowly pacing along tho corridor. My uncle, as 



. THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 15 

I have often heard him say himself, was a man not easily 
frightened ; so he lay quiet, supposing that this might be some 
other guest ; or some servant on his way to bed. The footsteps, 
hovever, approached the door ; the door gently opened ; wheth- 
er cf its own accord, or whether pushed open, my uncle could 
not distinguish: — a figure all in white ghded in. It was a 
female, tall and stately in person, and of a most commanding 
air. Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume and 
sweeping the floor. She walked up to the fire-place without 
regarding my uncle ; who raised his nightcap with one hand, 
and stared earnestly at her. She remained for some time stand- 
ing by the fire, which flashing up at intervals cast blue and 
white gleams of light that enabled my uncle to remark her 
appearance minutely. 

Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still more 
so by thg blueish light of the fire. It possessed beauty, but its 
beauty was saddened by care and anxiety. There was the look 
of one accustomed to trouble, but of one whom trouble could 
not cast down nor subdue ; for there was stiU the predominat- 
ing air of proud, unconquerable resolution. Such, at least, was 
the opinion formed by my uncle, and he considered himself a 
great physiognomist. 

The figure remained, as I said, for some time by the fire, put- 
ting out first one hand, then the other, then each foot, alter- 
nately, as if warming itself ; for your ghosts, if ghost it really 
was, are apt to be cold. My uncle furthermore remarked that 
it wore high-heeled shoes, after an ancient fashion, with paste 
or diamond buckles, tha,t sparkled as though they were alive. 
At length the figure turned gently round, casting a glassy look 
about the apartment, which, as it passed over my uncle, made 
his blood run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his bones. 
It then stretched its arms toward heaven, clasped its hands, 
and wringing them in a suppHcating manner, ghded slowly out 
of the room. 

My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visitation, for 
(as he remarked when he told me the story) though a man of 
firmness, he was also a man of reflection, and did not reject a 
thing because it was out of the regular course of events. How- 
ever, being, as I have before said, a great traveller, and accus- 
tomed to strange adventures, he drew his nightcap resolutely 
over his eyes, turned his back to the door, hoisted the bed- 
clothes high over his shoulders, and gradually feU asleep. 

How long he slept he could not say, when he was awakened 



16 TALES OF A TRAVELLMU. 

by the voice of some one at Ms bed-side. He turned round and 
beheld the old French servant, with his ear-locks in tight 
buckles on each side of a long, lanthorn face, on which habit 
had deeply wrinkled an everlasting smile. He made a thoa- 
sand grimaces and asked a thousand pardons for disturbing 
Monsieur, but the morning was considerably advanced. WMle 
my uncle was dressing, he called vaguely to mind the visitor of 
the preceding night. He asked the ancient domestic what lady 
was in the habit of rambling about this part of the chateau at 
night. The old valet shrugged his shoulders as high as his 
head, laid one hand on his bosom, threw open the other with 
every finger extended ; made a most whimsical grimace, which 
he meant to be complimentary : 

"It was not for him to know any thing of les braves fortunes 
of Monsieur. " 

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be learnt in 
this quarter. After breakfast he was walking with the Marquis 
through the modern apartments of the chateau; sliding over 
the well- waxed floors of silken saloons, amidst furniture rich in 
gilding and brocade ; until they came to a long picture gallery, 
containing many portraits, some in oil and some in chalks. 

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, who 
had all the family pride of a nobleman of the ancien regime. 
There was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly one in 
France, that was not, in some way or other, connected with his 
house. My uncle stood listening with inward impatience, rest- 
ing sometimes on one leg, sometimes on the other, as the little 
Marquis descanted, with his usual fire and vivacity, on the 
achievements of his ancestors, whose portraits hung along the 
wall; from the martial deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to 
the gallantries and intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with 
fair smiling faces, powdered ear-locks, laced ruffles, and pink 
and blue silk coats and breeches ; not forgetting the conquests 
of the lovely shepherdesses, with hoop petticoats and waists no 
thicker than an hour glass, who appeared ruling over their 
sheep and their swains with dainty crooks decorated with flut- 
tering ribbands. 

In the midst of his friend's discourse my uncle's eyes rested 
on a fuU-length portrait, which struck him as being the very 
counterpart of his visitor of the preceding night. 

" Methinks," said he, pointing to it, "I have seen the original 
of this portrait." 

^^ Pardonnez moi,''^ replied the Marquis poHtely, "that can 



THE ADVENTURE OF MT UNCLE. 17 

hardly be, as tlie lady has been dead more than a hundred 
years. That was the beautiful Duchess de Longueville, who 
figured during the minority of Louis the Fourteenth." 

"And was there any thing remarkable in her history." 

Never was question more unlucky. The little Marquis im- 
mediately threw himself into the attitude of a man about to 
tell a long story. In fact, my uncle had pulled upon himself 
the whole history of the civil war of the Fronde, in which the 
beautiful Duchess had played so distinguished a part. Turenne, 
Coligni, Mazarin, were called up from their graves to grace his 
narration ; nor were the affairs of the Barricadoes, nor the chiv- 
alry of the Pertcocheres forgotten. My uncle began to wish 
himself a thousand leagues off from the Marquis and his merci- 
less memory, when suddenly the little man's recollections took 
a more interesting turn. He was relating the imprisonment of 
the Duke de Longueville, with the Princes Conde and Conti, 
in the chateau of Vincennes, and the ineffectual efforts of the 
Duchess to rouse the sturdy Normans to their rescue. He had 
come to that part where she was invested by the royal forces 
in the chateau of Dieppe, and in imminent danger of faUing into 
their hands. 

"The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the Marquis, "rose 
with her trials. It was astonishing to see so delicate and beau- 
tiful a being buffet so resolutely with hardships. She deter- 
muied on a desperate means of escape. One dark unruly night, 
she issued secretly out of a small postern gate of the castle, 
which the enemy had neglected to guard. She was followed by 
her female attendants, a fev/ domestics, and some gallant cava- 
liers who still remained faithful to her fortunes. Her object 
was to gain a small port about two leagues distant, where she 
had privately provided a vessel for her escape in case of emer- 
gency. 

The little band of fugitives were obhged to perform the dis- 
tance on foot. When they arrived at the port the wind was 
high and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel anchored far off 
in the road, and no means of getting on board, but by a fishing 
shallop that lay tossing like a cockle shell on the edge of the 
surf. The Duchess determined to risk the attempt. The sea- 
men endeavored to dissuade her, but the imminence of her 
danger on shore, and the magnanimity of her spirit urged her 
on. She had to be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mari- 
ner. Such was the ^aolence of the wind and waves, that he 



18 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

faltered, lost his foothold, and let his precious burden fall into 
the sea. 

"The Duchess was nearly drowned; but partly through her 
own struggles, loartly by the exertions of the seamen, she got 
to land. As soon as she had a little recovered strength, she 
insisted on renewing the attempt. The storm, however, had 
by this time become so violent as to set all efforts at defiance. 
To delay, was to be discovered and taken prisoner. As the only 
resource left, she procured horses; mounted with her female 
attendants en C7^ou2je behind the gallant gentlemen who accom- 
panied her; and scoured the country to seek some temporary 
asylum. 

"While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying his fore- 
finger on my uncle's breast to arouse his flagging attention, 
"while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the tem- 
pest in this disconsolate manner, she arrived at this chateau. 
Her approach caused some uneasiness ; for the clattering of a 
troop of horse, at dead of night, up the avenue of a lonely 
chateau, in those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of the 
country, was enoLigh to occasion alarm. 

"A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, gal- 
loped ahead, and announced the name of the visitor. All un- 
easiness was dispelled. The household turned out with flam- 
beaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam on a more 
weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came tramping into 
the court. Such pale, care-worn faces, such bedraggled dresses, 
as the poor Duchess and her females presented, each seated be- 
hind her cavalier ; while half drenched, half drowsy pages and 
attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep 
and fatigue. 

"The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by my 
ancestors. She was ushered into the Hall of the chateau, and 
the fires soon crackled and blazed to cheer herself and her train ; 
and every spit and stewpan was put in requisition to prepare 
ample refreshments for the wayfarers. 

"She had a right to our hospitalities," continued the httle 
Marquis, drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness, 
"for she was related to our family. I'll tell you how it was: 
Her father, Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde — " 

"But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau?" said my 
uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of getting involved 
in one of the Marquis's genealogical discussions. 

"Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the apartment you 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 19 

occupied last night; which, at that time, was a kind of state 
apartment. Her followers were quartered in the chambers 
opening upon the neighboring corridor, and her favorite page 
slept in an adjoining closet. Up and down the corridor walked 
the great chasseur, who had announce her arrival, and who 
acted as a kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, 
powerful-looking fellow, and as the light of a lamp in the corri- 
dor fell upon his deeply-marked face and sinewy form, he 
seemed capable of defending the castle with his single arm. 

"It was a rough, rude night; about this time of the year. — 
Apropos— now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of 
her visit. I may well remember the precise date, for it was a 
night not to be forgotten by our house. There is a singular 
tradition concerning it in our family." Here the Marquis hesi- 
tated, and a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy eye- 
brows. " There is a tradition — that a strange occurrence took 
place that night — a strange, mysterious, inexphcable occur- 
rence." 

Here he checked himself and paused. 

"Did it relate to that lady?" inquired my uncle, eagerly.. 

" It was past the hour of midnight," resumed the Marquis — 
"when the whole chateau — " 

Here he. paused again — my uncle made a movement of anx- 
ious curiosity. 

"Excuse me," said the Marquis— a sHght blush streaking his 
sullen visage. "There are some circumstances connected mth 
our family history which I do not like to relate. That was a 
rude period. A time of great crimes among great men: for 
you know high blood. Mien it runs wrong, will not run tamely 
like blood of the canaille — poor lady ! — But I have a little family 
pride, that — excuse me — we will change the subject if you 
please." — 

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and magnif- 
icent introduction had led him to expect something wonderful 
in the story to which it served as a kind of avenue. He had 
no idea of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasona- 
ble squeamishness. Besides, being a traveller, in quest of in- 
formation, considered it his duty to inquire into every thing. 

The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 

"WeU," said my uncle, a little petulantly, "whatever you 
may think of it, I saw that lady last night." 

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise. 

" She paid me a visit in my bed-chamber." 



20 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The Marquis pulled out liis smiif-box with a shrug and a 
smile; taking it no doubt for an awkward piece of English 
pleasantry, vv^hich politeness required him to be charmed with. 
My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the whole 
'circumstance. The Marquis heard him through with profound 
attention, holding his snuff-box unopened in his hand. When 
the story was finished he tapped on the lid of his box deliber- 
ately ; took a long sonorous pinch of snuff— 

"Bah!" said the Marquis, and walked toward the other end 
of the gallery. — 



Here the narrator paused. The company waited for some 
time for him to resume Ms narrative ; but he continued silent. 

" Well," said the inquisitive gentleman, "and what did your 
uncle say then?" 

"Nothing," replied the other. 

"And what did the Marquis say farther?" 

"Nothing." 

"And is that all?" 

" That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass of wine. 

" I surmise, " said the shrewd old gentleman with the wag- 
gish nose — " I surmise it was the old housekeeper v/alkhig her 
rounds to see that all was right." 

"Bah!" said the narrator, "my uncle was too much accus- 
tomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from a house- 
keeper !" 

There was a murmur round the table half of merriment, half 
of disappointment. I was inclined to think the old gentleman 
had really an afterparfc of his story in reserve ; but he sipped 
his wine and said nothing more ; and there was an odd expres- 
sion about his dilapidated countenance that left me in doubt 
whether he were in drollery or earnest. 

" Egad," said the knowing gentleman with the flexible nose, 
" this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one that used to 
be told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's side ; though I don't 
know that it will bear a comparison ; as the good lady was not 
quite so prone to meet with strange adventures. But at any 
rate, you shall have it. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT 21 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 

My aunt was a lady of large frame, strong niind, and great 
resolution; she was what might be termed a very manly 
woman. My uncle was a thin, puny httle man, very meek 
and acquiescent, and no match for my aunt. It was observed 
that he dwindled and dwindled gradually away, from the day 
of his marriage. His wife's powerful mind was too much for 
him ; it wore him out. My aunt, however, took all possible 
care of him, had half the doctors in town to prescribe for him, 
made hmi take all their prescriptions, ivilly nilhj, and dosed 
him with physic enough to cure a whole hospital. All was in 
vain. My uncle grew worse and worse the more dosing and 
nursing he underwent, until in the end he added another to the 
long hst of matrimonial victims, who have been killed with 
kindness. 

"And was it his ghost that appeared to her?" asked the in- 
quisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former story- 
teller. 

"You shall hear," replied the narrator: — My aunt took on 
mightily for the death of her poor dear husband ! Perhaps she 
felt some compunction at having given him so much physic, 
and nursed him into his grave. At any rate, she did all that a 
widow could do to honor his memory. She spared no expense 
in either the quantity or quality of her mourning weeds ; she 
wore a miniature of him about her neck, as large as a little sun 
dial ; a.nd she had a full-length portrait of him always hanging 
in her bed chamber. AU the world extolled her conduct to the 
skies ; and it was determined, that a woman who behaved so 
well to the memory of one husband, deserved soon to get 
another. 

It was not long after this that she went to take up her resi- 
dence in an old country seat in Derbyshire, which had long been 
in the care of merely a steward and housekeeper. She took 
most of her servants with her, intending to make it her princi- 
pal abode. The house stood in a lonely, wild part of the coun- 
try, among the gray Derbyshire hills ; with a murderer hang- 
ing in chpins on a bleak height in full view. 

The servants from town were half frightened out of their wits, 
at the idea of living m such a dismal, pagan-looking place; 
especially when they got together in the servants' hall in the 



22 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

evening, a,nd compared notes on all the hobgoblin stories they 
had picked up in the course of the day. They were afraid to 
venture alone about the forlorn black-looking chambers. My 
ladies' maid, who was troubled with nerves, declared she could 
never sleep alone in such a ''gashly, rummaging old building;" 
and the footman, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all 
in his power to cheer her up. 

My aunt, herself, seemed to be struck with the lonely appear- 
ance of the house. Before she went to bed, therefore, she 
examined well the fastenings of the doors and windows, locked 
up the plate with her own hands, and carried the keys, together 
with a little box of money and jewels, to her own room ; for 
she was a notable woman, and always saw to all things herself. 
Having put the keys under her pillow, and dismissed her maid, 
she sat by her toilet arrangmg her hair ; for, being, in spite of 
her grief for my uncle, rather a buxom widow, she was a httle 
particular about her person. She sat for a little while looking 
at her face in the glass, first on one side, then on the other, as 
ladies are apt to do, when they would ascertain if they have 
been in good looks; for a roystering country squire of the 
neighborhood, with whom she had flirted when a girl, had 
called that day to welcome her to the country. 

All of a sudden she thought she heard something move behind 
her. She looked hastily round, but there was nothing to be 
seen. Nothing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor dear 
man, which had been hung against the wall. She gave a heavy 
sigh to his memory, as she was accustomed to do, whenever 
she spoke of hmi in company ; and went on adjusting her night- 
dress. Her sigh was re-echoed ; or answered by a long-drawn 
breath. She looked round again, but no one was to be seen. 
She ascribed these sounds to the wind, oozing through the rat 
holes of the old mansion ; and proceeded leisurely to put her 
hair in papers, when, all at once, she thought she perceived 
one of the eyes of the portrait move. 

"The back of her head being towards it !" said the story-teller 
with the ruined head, giving a knowing wink on the sound 
side of his visage — " good !" 

"Yes, sir!" rephed drily the narrator, "her back being 
towards the portrait, but her eye fixed on its reflection in the 
glass." 

Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the 
portrait move. So strange a circmiistance, as you may well 
suppose, gave hex* a sudden shock. To assure herself cautiously 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 23 

of the fact, she put one hand to her forehead, as if rubbing it; 
peeped through her fingers, and moved the candle with the 
other hand. The hght of the taper gleamed on the eye, and 
was reflected from it. She was sure it moved. Nay, more it 
seemed to give her a wink, as she had sometunes known her 
husband to do when living ! It struck a momentary chill to her 
heart; for she was a lone woman, and felt herself fearfuUy 

situated. , i 4. „ 

The chiU was but transient. My aunt, who was almost as 
resolute a personage as your uncle, sir, (turning to the old 
story-teUer,) became mstantly cahn and coUected. She went 
on adiusting her dress. She even hummed a favorite au-, and 
did not make a single false note. She casually overturned a 
dressing box ; took a candle and picked up the articles leisurely 
one by one, from the floor, pursued a rolhng pm-cushion that 
was making the best of its way under the bed ; then opened the 
door; looked for an mstant into the corridor, as if m doubt 
whether to go ; and then walked quietly out. 

She hastened down-stairs, ordered the servants to arm them- 
selves with the first weapons that came to hand, placed herselt 
[It their head, and returned almost immediately. 

Her hastily levied army presented a f orimdable force. The 
steward had a rusty blunderbuss ; the coachman a loaded whip ; 
the footman a pair of horse pistols; the cook a huge choppmg 
knife and the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt led the 
van with a red-hot poker; and, m my opinion, she was the 
most formidable of the party. The waiting maid brought up 
the rear, dreading to stay alone in the servants' hall, smelling 
to a broken bottle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror ot 
the ghosteses. ., . ... 

" Ghosts !" said my aunt resolutely, " I'U smge their whiskers 

for them!" , , -,. ^ x, j 

They entered the chamber. AU was stiH and undisturbed as 
when she left it. They approached the portrait of my uncle. 
' ' Pull me down that picture !" cried my aunt. 
A heavy groan, and a sound hke the chattermg of teeth, was 
heard from the portrait. The servants shrunk back. The maid 
uttered a faint shriek, and clung to the footman. 

" Instantly !" added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. ^ 
The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind it, m 
which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth a round- 
shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife as long as my 
arm, but trembling all over hke an aspen leaf. 



24 TALES OF A TRA VELLER 

"Well, and who was he? No ghost, I suppose !" said the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

"A knight of the post," replied the narrator, "who had been 
smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow ; or rather a 
marauding Tarquin, who had stolen into her chamber to violate 
her purse and rifle her strong box when all the house should be 
asleep. In plain terms," continued he, "the vagabond was a 
loose idle fellow of the neighborhood, who had once been a 
servant in the house, and had been employed to assist in arrang- 
ing it for the reception of its mistress. He confessed that he 
had contrived his hiding-place for his nefarious purposes, and 
had borrowed an eye from the portrait by way of a recon- 
no^tering hole." 

"And what did they do with him— did they hang him?" 
resumed the questioner. 

"Hang him? — how could they?" exclaimed a beetle-browed 
barrister, with a hawk's nose — "the offence was not capital — 
no robbery nor assault had been committed — no forcible entry 
or breaking into the premises—" 

"My aunt," said the narrator, "was a woman of spirit, and 
apt to take the law into her own hands. She had her own 
notions of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to be drawn 
through the horsepond to cleanse away all offences, and then 
to be well rubbed down with an oaken towel." 

"And what became of him afterwards?" said the inquisitive 
gentleman. 

" I do not exactly know — I believe he was sent on a voyage 
of improvement to Botany Bay." 

"And your aunt—" said the inquisitive gentleman — "I'll 
warrant she took care to make her maid sleep in the room with 
her after that." 

"No, sir, she did better— she gave her hand shortly after to 
the roystering squire ; for she used to observe it was a dismal 
thing for a woman to sleep alone in the country." 

"She was right," observed the inquisitive gentleman, nod- 
ding his head sagaciously—" but I am sorry they did not hang 
that fellow." 

It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had brought 
his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion ; though a country 
clergyman present regretted that the uncle and aunt, who 
figured in the different stories, had not been married together. 
They certainly would have been weU matched. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 25 

''But I don't see, after all," said the inquisitive gentleman, 
*'tliat there was any ghost in this last story." 

'' Oh, if it's ghosts you v/ant, honey," cried the Irish captain 
of dragoons, "if it's ghosts you want, you shall have a whole 
regmient of them. And since these gentleitien have been 
giving the adventures of their uncles and aunts, faith and I'll 
e'en give you a chapter too, out of my own family history." 



THE BOLD DEAGOON; 

OR THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRAND! ATHER. 

My grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profession, d'ye 
see, that has run in the family. All my forefathers have been 
dragoons and died upon the field of honor except myself, and 
I hope my posterity may be able to say the same ; however, I 
don't mean to be vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I 
said, was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low Coun- 
tries. In fact, he was one of that very army, which, according 
to my uncle Toby, " sv/ore so terribly in Flanders." He could 
swear a good stick himself ; and, moreover, was the very man 
that introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim mentions, of radi- 
cal heat and radical moisture; or, in other words, the mode 
of Ifeeping out the damps of ditch water by burnt brandy. 
Be that as it may, it's nothing to the purport of my story. I 
only tell it to show you that my gra,ndf ather was a man not 
easily to be humbugged. He had seen service ; or, according 
to his own phrase, "he had seen the devil" — and that's say- 
ing everything. 

WeU, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to Eng- 
land, for which he intended to embark at Ostond ; — bad luck 
to the place for one where I was kept by storms and head 
winds for three long days, and the divil of a jolly companion 
or pretty face to comfort me. WeU, as I was saying, my 
grandfather was on his way to England, or rather to Ostend — 
no matter which, it's all the same. So one evening, towards 
nightfall, he rode jollily into Bruges. Very like you all know 
Bruges, gentlemen, a queer, old-fashioned Flemish town, once 
they say a great place for trade and money-making, in fid 
times, when the Mynheers were in their glory ; but almost as 
large and as e-mpty as an Irishman's pocket at the i^resent day. 



26 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Well, gentlemen, it was the time of the annual fair. All 
Bruges was crowded ; and the canals swarmed with • Dutch 
boats, and the streets s^^armed with Dutch merchants; and 
there was hardly any getting along for goods, wares, and 
merchandises, and peasants in big breeches, and women in 
haK a score of petticoats. 

My grandfather rode joUily along in his easy, slashing way, 
for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow — staring about him at the 
motley crowd, and the old houses with gable ends to the 
street and storks' nests on the chimneys ; winking at the ya, 
vrouws who showed their faces at the windows, and joking the 
women right and left in the street; all of whom laughed and 
took it in amazing good part; for though he did not know 
a word of their language, yet he alY^^ays had a knack of makuig 
himself understood among the women. 

Well, gentlemen, it being the time" of the annual fair, all the 
town was crowded ; every inn and tavern full, and my grand- 
father applied in vain from one to the other for admittance. 
At length he rode up to an old rackety inn that looked ready 
to fall to pieces, and which all the rats would have run away 
from, if they could have found room in any other house to put 
their heads. It was just such a queer building as you see in 
Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up into the 
clouds ; and as many garrets, one over the other, as the seven 
heavens of Mahomet. Nothing had saved it from tumbling 
down but a stork's nest on the chuxmey, which always brings 
good luck to a house in the Low Countries ; and at the very 
Mme of my grandfather's arrival, there were two of these long- 
legged birds of grace, standing like ghosts on the chimney top. 
Faith, but they've kept the house on its legs to this very day; 
for you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, as it 
stands there yet ; only it is turned into a brewery— a brew- 
ery of strong Flemish beer; at least it was so when I came 
that way after the battle of Waterloo. 

My grandfather eyed the h%use curiously as he approached. 
It might not altogether have struck his fancy, had he not seen 
in large letters over the door, 

HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK. 

'My grandfather had learnt enough of the language to know 
that the sign promised good hquor. "This is the house for 
me," said he, stopping short before the door. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 27 

The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an event 
in an old inn, frequented only by the peaceful sons of traffic. 
A rich burgher of Antwerp, a stately ample man, in a broad 
Flemish hat, and who was the great man and great patron of 
the establishment, sat smoking a clean long pipe on one side of 
the door; a fat httle distiller of Geneva from Schiedam, sat 
smoking on the other, and the bottle-nosed host stood in the 
door, and the comely hostess, in crimped cap, beside him ; and 
the hostess' daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold 
pendants in her ears, was at a side window. 

" Humph!" said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a sulky 
glance at the stranger. 

"Der duyvel!" said the fat little distiller of Schiedam. 

The landlord saw with the quick glance of a pubHcan that 
the new guest was not at all, at all, to the taste of the old ones ; 
and to tell the truth, he did not himself hke my grandfather's 
saucy eye. He shook his head — ' ' Not a garret in the house but 
was full." 

*' Not a garret !" echoed the landlady. 

" Not a garret!" echoed the daughter. 

The burgher of i^ntwerp and the little distiller of Schiedam 
continued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eyed the enemy 
askance from under their broad hats, but said nothing. 

My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He threw 
the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his hat on one side, stuck 
one arm akimbo, slapped his broad thigh with the other 
han^ — 

" Faith and troth !" said he, "but I'll sleep in this house this 
very night !" 

My grandfather had on a tight pair of buckskins— the slap 
went to the landlady's heart. 

He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and mak- 
ing his way past the staring Mynheers into the public room. 
May be you've been in the barroom of an old Flemish inn — 
faith, but a handsome chamber it was as you'd wish to see ; 
with a brick floor, a great fire-place, with the whole Bible his- 
tory in glazed tiles ; and then the mantel-piece, pitching itself 
head foremost out of the. wall, with a whole regiment of 
cracked tea-pots and earthen jugs paraded on it ; not to men- 
tion half a dozen great Delft platters hung about the room by 
way of pictures; and the little bar in one corner, and the 
bouncing bar-maid inside of it with a red cahco cap 'and yellow 
ear-drops. 



28 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he cast 
an eye round the room: "Faith, this is the very house I've 
been looking after," said he. 

There was some farther show of resistance on the part of the 
garrison, but my grandfather was an old soldier, and an Irish- 
man to boot, and not easily repulsed, especially after he had 
got into the fortress. So he blarney'd the landlord, kissed the 
landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, chucked the 
bar-maid under the chin ; and it was agreed on all hands that it 
would be a thousand pities, and a burning shame into the bar- 
gain, to turn such a bold dragoon into the streets. So they laid 
their heads together, that is to say, my grandfather and the 
landlady, and it was at length agreed to accommodate him 
with an old chamber that had for some time been shut up. 

" Some say it's haunted !" whispered the landlord's daughter, 
"but you're a bold dragoon, and I dare say you don't fear 



"The divil a bit!" said my grandfather, pinching her plump 
cheek; "but if I should be troubled by ghosts, I've been to the 
Red Sea in my time, and have a pleasant way of laying them, 
my darling !" 

And then he whispered something to the girl which made her 
laugh, and give him a good-humored box on the ear. In short, 
there was nobody knew better how to make Ms way among the 
petticoats than my grandfather. 

In a nttle wliile, as v/as his usual way, he took complete pos- 
session of the house : swaggering all over it ; — into the stable to 
look after his horse ; into the kitchen to look after his supper. 
He had something to say or do with every one ; smoked with 
the Dutchmen ; drank with the Germans ; slapped the men on 
the shoulders, tickled the women under the ribs : — never since 
the days of Ally Croaker had such a rattling blade been seen. 
The landlord stared at Mm with astonisMnent ; the landlord's 
daughter hung her head and giggled whenever ^e came near ; 
and as he turned his back and swaggered along, his tight jacket 
setting off his broad shoulders and j^lump buckskins, and Mslong 
sword trailing by Ms side, the maids wMspered to one another 
— "What a proper man !" 

At supper my grandfather took command of the table d'hote 
as though he had been at home ; helped everybody, not forget- 
ting Mmself ; talked with every one, whether he imderstood 
their language or not ; and made his way into the intimacy of 
the rich burgher of Antwerp, who had ?^ever been known to be 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 29 

sociable with any one during liis life. In fact, he revolution- 
ized the whole estabhshinent, and gave it such a rouse, that 
the very house reeled with it. He outsat every one at table 
excepting the little fat distiller of Schiedam, who had sat soak- 
ing for a long time before he broke forth ; but when he did, he 
was a very de^/il incarnate. He took a violent affection for my 
grandfather; so they sat drinking, and smoking, and telling 
stories, and singing Dutch and Irish songs, without understand- 
ing a word each other said, until the Httle Hollander was fairly 
swampt with his own gin and water, and carried oft to bed, 
whooping and hiccuping, and trolling the burthen of a Low 
Dutch love song. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shov/n to his quarters, 
up a huge staircase composed of loads of hewn timber; and 
through long rigmarole passages, hung with blackened paintings 
of fruit, and fish, and game, and country froUics, and huge 
kitchens, and portly burgomasters, such as you see about old- 
fashioned Flemish inns, till at length he arrived at his room. 

An old-times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded with 
aU kinds of trumpery. It looked hke an infirmary for decayed 
and superannuated furniture ; where everything diseased and 
disabled was sent to nurse, or to be forgotten. Or rather, it 
might have been taken for a general congress of old legitimate 
moveables, where every kind and country had a representative. 
No two chairs were alike : such high backs and low backs, and 
leather bottoms and worsted bottoms, and straw bottoms, and 
no bottom.s ; and cracked marble tables with curiously carved 
legs, holding balls in their claws, as though they were going to 
play at ninepins. 

My grandfather made a bow to the motley assemblage as he 
entered, and having undressed himself, placed his hght in the 
fire-place, asking pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be 
making love to the shovel in the chimney corner, and whisper- 
ing soft nonsense in its ear. 

The rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep ; for 
your Mynheers are huge sleepers. The house maids, one by 
one, crept up yawning to their attics, and not 'a female head 
in the inn was laid on a piUow that night without dreaming of 
the Bold Dragoon. 

My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew over 
him one of those great bags of down, under which they smother 
a man in the Low Countries ; and there he lay, melting between 
two feather beds, like an anchovy sandwich between two sHces 



30 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

of toast and butter. He was a warm-complexioned man, and 
this smothering played the very deuce with him. So, sure 
enough, in a Httle while it seemed as if a legion of imps were 
twitching at him, and all the blood in his veins was in fever 
heat. 

He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, except- 
ing the snoring of the Mynheers from the different chambers; 
who answered one another in all kinds of tones and cadences, 
like so many bull-frogs in a swamp. The quieter the house 
became, the more im.quiet became my grandfather. He waxed 
warmer and warmer, until at length the bed became too hot to 
hold him. 

"May be the maid had warmed it too much?" said the cur- 
ious gentleman, inquiringly. 

"I rather think the contrary," replied the Irishman. "But 
be that as it may, it grew too hot for my grandfather." 

"Faith there's no standing this any longer," says he; so he 
jumped out of bed and went strolhng about the house. 

"What for?" said the inquisitive gentleman. 

"Why, to cool himself to be sure," replied the other, "or 

perhaps to find a more comfortable bed — or perhaps ^but no 

matter what he went for — he never mentioned ; and there's no 
use in taking up our tmie in conjecturing." 

Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent from 
his room, and was returning, perfectly cool, when just as he 
reached the door he heard a strange noise within. He paused 
and listened. It seemed as if some one was trying to hum a 
tune in defiance of the asthma. He recollected the report of 
the room's being haunted ; but he was no behever in ghosts. 
So he pushed the door gently ajar, and peeped in. 

Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on within 
enough to have astonished St. Anthony. 

By the light of the fire he saw a pale weazen-faced f eUow in a 
long flannel gown a.nd a tall white night-cap with a tassel to it, 
who sat by the fire, with a bellows under his arm by way of 
bagpipe, from which he forced the asthmatical music that had 
bothered my grandfather. As he played, too, he kept twitch- 
ing about with a thousand queer contortions; nodding his 
head and bobbing about his tasselled night-cap. 

My grandfather thought this very odd, and mighty presump- 
tuous, and was about to demand what business he had to play 
his wind instruments in another gentleman's quarters, when 
a new.cause of astonishment met his eye. From the opposite 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 31 

• 

side of the room a long-backed, bandy-legged chair, covered 
with leather, and studded all over in a coxcoinical fashion with 
little brass nails, got suddenly into motion ; thrust out first a 
claw foot, then a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg, 
slided gracefully up to an easy chair, of tarnished brocade, 
with a hole in its bottom, and led it gallantly out in a ghostly 
minuet about the floor. 

The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and bobbed his 
head and his nightcap about like mad. By degrees the dancing 
mania seemed to seize upon all the other i)ieces of furniture. 
The antique, long-bodied chairs paired off in couples and led 
down a country dance ; a three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, 
though horribly puzzled by its supernumerary leg ; while the 
amorous tongs seized the shovel round the waist, and whirled 
it about the room in a German waltz. In short, all the move- 
ables got in motion, capering about ; x^irouetting, hands across, 
right and left, like so many devils, all except a great clothes- 
press, which kept curtseying and curtseying, like a dowager, 
in one corner, in exquisite time to the music ; — being either too 
corpulent to dance, or perhaps at a loss for a partner. 

My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason ; so, 
being, like a true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at all tunes 
ready for a frolic, he bounced into the room, calling to the 
musician to strike up "Paddy O'Rafferty," capered up to the 
clothes-press and seized upon two handles to lead her out :— 
When, whizz ! — the whole revel was at an end. The chairs, 
tables, tongs, and shovel slunk in an instant as quietly into 
their places as if nothing had happened; and the musician 
vanished up the chimney, leaving the beUows behind him in 
his hurry. My grandfather found hunself seated in the middle 
of the floor, with the clothes-press sprawling before him, and 
the two handles jerked off and in his hands. 

"Then after all, this was a mere dream !" said the inquisitive 
gentleman. 

"The divil a bit of a dream!" replied the Irishman: "there 
never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, I should have 
Mked to see any man tell vaj grandfather it was a dream.'* 

WeU, gentlemen, as the clothes-press was a mighty heavy 
body, and my grandfather likewise, particularly in rear, you 
may easily suppose two such heavy bodies coming to the 
ground would make a bit of a noise. Faith, the old mansion 
shook as though it had mista^ken it for an earthquake. The 
whole garrison was alarmed. Tlie landlord, who slept just 



32 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 

below, hurried up with a candle to inquire the cause, but with 
all his haste his daughter had hurried to the scene of uproar 
before him. The landlord was followed by the landlady, who 
was followed by the bouncing bar-maid, who was followed by 
the simpering chambermaids all holding together, as well as 
they could, such garments as they had first lain hands on ; but 
all in a terrible hurry to see vfhat the devil was to pay in the 
chamber of the bold dragoon. 

My grandfather related the marvellous scene he had wit- 
nessed, and the prostrate clothes-press, and the broken handles,' 
bore testim.ony to the fact. There was no contesting such 
evidence; particularly with a lad of my grandfather's com- 
plexion, who seemed able to make good every Avord either with 
sword or shillelah. So the landlord scratched his head and 
looked silly, as he was apt to do when puzzled. The landlady 
scratched — no, she . did not scratch her head,— but she knit 
her brow, and did not seem half pleased with the explanation. 
But the landlady's daughter corroborated it by recollecting 
tliPct the last person who had dwelt in that chamber v/as a 
famous juggler who had died of St. Vitus's dance, and no doubt 
had infected all the furniture. 

This set all things to rights, particularly when the chamber- 
maids declared that they had all v/itnessed strange carryings 
on in that room; — and as they declared this "upon their 
honors," there could not remain a doubt ui)on the subject. 

"And did your grandfather go to bed again in that room?" 
said the inquisitive gentleman. 

"That's more than I can tell. ¥/here he passed the rest of 
the night was a secret he never disclosed. In fact, though he 
had seen much service, he was but indifferently acquainted 
with geography, and apt to make blunders in his travels about 
inns at night, that it w^ould have puzzled him sadly to account 
for in the morning." 

" Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep?" said the knowing 
old gentleman. 

' ' Never that I heard of." 



ADVJSJSTUllE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 33 



THE ADVENTUEE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 

As ONE story of the kind produces another, and as aU the 
company seemed fully engrossed by the topic, and disposed to 
bring their relatives and ancestors upon the scene, there is no 
knomng how many more ghost adventures we might have 
hoard, had not a corpulent old fox-hunter, who had slept 
soundly tlirough the whole^ now suddenly awakened, vv^ith a 
loud and long-drawn yawn. The sound broke the charm ; the 
ghosts took to flight as though it had been cock-crowing, and 
there was a universal move for bed. 

" And now for the haunted chamber," said the Irish captain, 
taking liis candle. 

" Aye, who's to be the hero of the night?" said the gentleman 
with the ruined head. 

"That we shall see in the morning," said the old gentleman 
with the nose: "whoever looks pale and grizzly v/ill have seen 
the ghost." 

" Well, gentlemen," said the Baronet, "there's many a true 
thing said in jest. In fact, one of you wiU sleep in a room 
to-night " 

"What— a haunted room? a haunted room? I claim the 
adventu.re— and I— and I— and I," cried a dozen guests, talking 
and laughing at the same time. 

"No — no," said mine host, "there is a secret about one of 
my rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experiment. So, 
g;entlemen, none of you shall know who has the haunted 
chamber, until circumstances reveal it. I will not even know 
it myself, but wiU leave it to chance and the allotment of the 
housekeeper. At the same time, if it will be any satisfaction 
to you, I will observe, for the honor of my paternal mansion, 
that there's scarcely a chamber in it but is well worthy of being 
haunted." 

We now separated for the night, and each went to his allotted 
room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and I coidd not 
but smile at its resemblance in style to those eventful apart- 
ments described in the tales of the supper table. It was 
spacious and gloomy, decorated with lamp-black portraits, a 
bed of ancient damask, with a tester sufficiently lofty to grace 
a couch of state, and a number of massive pieces of old- 
fashioned furniture. I drew a great claw-footed arm-chair 



34 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

before the wide fire-place ; stirred up the fire ; sat looking into 
it, and musing upon the odd stories I had heard ; until, partly 
overcome by the fatigue of the day's hunting, and partly by 
the wine and wassail of mine host, I fell asleep in my chair. 

The uneasiness of my iDOsition made my slumber troubled, 
and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and fearful 
dreams; now it was that my perfidious dinner and supper 
rose in rebellion against my peace. I was hag-ridden by a fat 
saddle of mutton ; a plum pudding weighed like lead upon my 
conscience ; the merry thought of a capon filled me with horri- 
ble suggestions; and a devilled leg of a turkey stalked in all 
kinds of diabolical shapes through my imagination. In short, 
I had a violent fit of the nightmare. Some strange indefinite 
evil seemed hanging over me that I could not avert; some- 
thing terrible and loa^thsome oppressed me that I could not 
shake off. I Avas conscious of being asleej), and strove to rouse 
myself, but every effort redoubled the evil; until gasping, 
struggling, almost stranghng, I suddenly sprang bolt upright 
in my chair, and awoke. 

The light on the mantel-piece had burnt low, and the wick 
was divided; there was a great winding sheet made by the 
dripping wax, on the side towards me. The disordered taper 
emitted a broad flaring flame, and threw a strong light on a 
painting over the fire-place, which I had not hitherto observed. 

It consisted merely of a head, or rather a face, that appeared 
to be staring full upon me, and with an expression that was 
starthng. It was v/ithout a frame, and at the first glance I 
could hardly persuade myself that it was not a real face, 
thrusting itself out of the dark oaken pannel. I sat in my 
chair gazing at it, and the more I gazed the more it disquieted 
me. I had never before been affected in the same way by any 
painting. The emotions it caused v^rere strange and indefinite. 
They were something like what I have heard ascribed to the 
eyes of the basilisk ; or like that mysterious influence in rep- 
tiles termed fascination. I passed my hand over my eyes 
several times, as if seeking instinctively to brush away this 
aUusion — in vain — they instantly reverted to the picture, and 
its chilling, creeping influence over my flesh was redoubled. 

I looked around the room on other pictures, either to divert 
my attention, or to see whether the same effect would be pro- 
duced by them. Some of them were grim enough to produce 
the effect, if the mere grimness of the painting produced it — 
no such thing. My eye passed over them all with perfect 



ADVENTURE OF THE MTSTERIOUS PICTURE. 35 

indifference, but the moment it reverted to this visage over the 
fire-place, it was as if an electric shock darted through me. 
Tlie other pictures were dim and faded ; but this one protruded 
from a plain black ground in the strongest relief, and with won- 
derful truth of coloring. The expression was that of agony — 
the agony of intense bodily pain ; but a menace scowled upon 
the brow, and a few sprinklings of blood added to- its ghast- 
liness. Yet it was not all these characteristics — it was some 
horror of the mind, some inscrutable antipathy awakened by 
this picture, which harrowed up my feelings. 

I tried to persuade myself that this was chimerical ; that my 
brain was confused by the fumes of mine host's good cheer, 
and, in some measure, by the odd stories about paintings 
which had been told at supper. I determined to shake off 
these vapors of the mind; rose from my chair, and walked 
about the room; snapped my fingers;, rallied myself; laughed 
aloud. It was a forced laugh, and the echo of it in the old 
chamber jarred upon my ear. I walked to the v/indow ; tried 
to discern the landscape through the glass. It was pitch dark- 
ness, and hoY/ling storm without; and as I heard the wind 
moan among the trees, I cought a reflection of this accursed 
visage in the pane of glass, as though it Vv^ere staring through 
the window at me. Even the reflection of it was thrilling. 

How was this vfle nervous fit, for such I now persuaded 
myself it was, to be conquered? I determined to force myself 
not to look at the painting but to undress quickly and get into 
bed. I began to undress, but in spite of every effort I could 
not keep myself from stealing a glance every now and then at 
the picture; and a glance was now sufficient to distress me. 
Even when my back was turned to it, the idea of this strange 
face behind me, peering over my shoulder, was insufferable. I 
threw off my clothes and hurried into bed ; but still this visage 
gazed upon me. I had a full view of it from my bed, and for 
some time could not take my eyes from it. I had grown 
nervous to a dismal degree. 

I put out the light, and tried to force myseff to sleep ; — all in 
vain ! The fire gleaming up a little, threw an uncertain light 
about the room, leaving, however, the region of the picture in 
deep shadow. What, thought I, if this be the chamber about 
which mine host spoke as having a mystery reigning over it? — 
I had taken his words merely as spoken in jest ; might they 
have a real import? I looked around. The faintly-Hghted 
apartment had aU the qualifications requisite for a haunted 



3e TALES OF A TRAVELLEU. 

chamber. It began in my infected imagination to assume 
strange appearances. The old portraits turned paler and 
paler, and blacker and blacker; the streaks of light and 
shadow thrown among the quaint old articles of furniture, 
gave them singular shapes and characters. There was a huge 
dark clothes-press of antique form, gorgeous in brass and 
lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive to me. 

Am I then, thought I, indeed, the hero of the haunted room? 
Is there really a spell laid upon me, or is this all some con- 
trivance of mine host, to raise a laugh at my expense? The 
idea of being hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, and then 
bantered on my haggard looks the next day was intolerable ; 
but the very idea was sulSicient to produce the effect, and to 
render me still more nervous. Pish, said I, it can be no such 
thing. How could my worthy host imagine tha.t I, or any 
man would be so worried by a mere picture? It is my own dis- 
eased imagination that torments me. I turned in my bed, and 
shifted from side to side, to try to fall asleep ; but all in vain. 
V\7'hen one cannot get asleep by lying quiet, it is seldom that 
tossing about v/ill effect the purpose. The fire gradually went 
out and left the room in darkness. Still I had the idea of tliis 
inexplicable countenance gazing and keeping watch upon me 
through the darkness. Nay, what was worse, the very dark- 
ness seemed to give it additional power, and to multiply its 
terrors. It was like having an unseen enemy hovering about 
one in the night. Instead of having one picture now to worry 
me, I had a hundred. I fancied it in every direction. And 
there it is, thought I, — and there, and there, — with its horrible 
and mysterious expression, still gazing and gazing on me. No 
— if I must suffer this strange and dismal influence, it were 
better face a single foe, than thus be haunted by a thousand 
images of it. 

Whoever has been in such a state of nervous agitation must 
know that the longer it continues, the more uncontrollable it 
grows ; the very air of the chamber seemed at length infected 
by the baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it hovering 
over me. I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall ap- 
proaching my face,— it seemed breathing upon me. This is 
not to be borne, said I, at length, springing out of bed. I can 
stand this no longer. I shall only tumble and toss about here 
all night ; make a very spectre of myself, and become the hero 
of the haunted chamber in good earnest. Whatever be the 
consequence. I'll quit this cursed room, and seek a night's rest 



ADVENTURE OF TUB MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 37 

elsewhere. They can but laugh at me at all events, and they'll 
be sure to have the laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night 
and show them a haggard and wo-begone visage in the morn- 
ing. 

All this was half muttered to myself, as I hastily slipped on 
my clothes ; which having done, I groped my way out of the 
room, and down-stairs to the drawing-room. Here, after tum- 
bhng over two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to reach 
a sofa, and stretching myself upon it determined to bivouac 
there for the night. 

The moment I found myself out of the neighborhood of that 
strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All its 
influence was at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to 
its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive 
caution, turned the key when I c;[osed the door. I soon calmed 
down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; from that into a 
drowsiness, and finally into a deep sleep ; out of which I did not 
awake, until the house maid, with her besom and her matin 
song, came to put the room in order. She stared at finding me 
stretched upon the sofa; but I presume circumstances of the 
kind were not uncommon after hunting dinners, in her master's 
bachelor establishment ; for she went on with her song and her 
work, and took no farther heed of me. 

I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber ; 
so I found my way to the butler's quarters, made my toilet in 
the best way circumsta^nces v/ould permit, and was among the 
first to appear at tlie breakfast table. Our breakfast was a 
substantial fox-hunter's repast, and the company were gener- 
ally assembled at it. When ample justice had hQQw done to the 
tea, coffee, cold meats, and humming ale, for all these were 
furnished in abundance, according to the tastes of the different 
guests, the conversation began to break out, with all the liveli- 
ness and freshness of morning mirth. 

"But who is the hereof the haunted chamber?— Who has 
seen the ghost last night?" said the inquisitive gentleman, roll- 
ing his lobster eyes about the table. 

The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast deal of ban- 
tering; criticising of countenances; of mutual accusation and 
retort took place. Some had drunk deep, and some were un- 
shaven, so that there were suspicious faces enough in the assem- 
bly. I alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the 
joke. I felt tongue-tied — embarrassed. A recollection of what 
I had seen and felt the urecedine: nij^ht still haunted my mind. 



38 TALES OF A TRAVELLEE. 

It seemed as if the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon 
me. I thought also that our host's eye was turned on me with 
an air of curiosity. In short, I was conscious that I was the 
hero of the night, and felt as if every one might read it in my 
looks. 

The jokes, however, passed over, and no suspicion seemed to 
attach to me. I was just congratulating myself on my escape, 
when a servant came in, saying, that the gentleman who had 
slept on the sofa in the drawing-room, had left his watch under 
one of the pillov/s. My repeater was in his hand. 

"What!" said the inquisitive gentleman, "did any gentle- 
moji sleep on the sofa?" 

' ' Soho ! soho ! a hare— a hare !" cried the old gentleman with 
the flexible nose. 

I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was rising 
in great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who sat beside 
me, exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, ' ' 'Sblood, lad ! 
thoa'rt the man as has seen the ghost!" 

The attention of the company was immediately turned to me ; 
if my face had been pale the moment before, it now glowed 
almost to burning. I tried to laugh, but could only make a 
grimace ; and found all the muscles of my face twitching at 
sixes and sevens, and totally out of all control. 

It takes but little to raise a laugh among a set of fox-hunters. 
There was a world of merriment and joking at my expense ; 
and as I never relished a joke overmuch when it was at my 
own expense, I began to feel a little nettled, I tried to look 
cool and calm and to restrain my pique; but the coolness and 
calmness of a man in a passion are confounded treacherous. 

Gentlem.en, said I, with a slight cocliing of the chin, and a 
bad attempt at a smile, this is all very pleasant — ^ha 1 ha ! — very 
pleasant — but I'd have you know I am as little superstitious as 
any of you — ha ! ha !— and as to anything like timidity — you may 
smile, gentlemen — but I' trust there is no one here means to 
insinuate that. As to a room's being haunted, I repeat, gen- 
tlemen — (growing a little warm at seeing a cursed grin breaking 
out round me)— as to a room's being haunted, I have as little 
faith in such silly stories as any one. But, since you put the 
matter home to me, I will say that I have met with something 
in my room strange and inexplicable to me — (a shout of laugh- 
ter). Gentlemen, I am serious — I know well what I am saying 
— I am calm, gentlemen, (striking my fist upon the table) — ^by 
heaven I am calm. I am neither triflmsr. nor do I wish to be 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 39 

trifled with— (the laughter of the company suppressed with 
ludicrous attempts at gravity). There is a picture in the room 
in wliich I was put last night, that has had an effect upon me 
the most singular and incomprehensible. 

"A picture!" said the old gentleman with the haunted head. 
" A picture I" cried the narrator with the waggish nose. "A 
picture ! a picture !" echoed several voices. Here there was an 
ungovernable peal of laughter. 

I could not contain myself. I started up from my seat- 
looked round on the company with fiery indignation— thrust 
both my hands into my pockets, and strode up to one of the 
windows, as though I would have walked through it. I stopped 
short ; looked out upon the landscape without distinguishing a 
feature of it; and -felt my gorge rising almost to suffocation. 

Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had maintained 
an air of gravity through the whole of the scene, and now 
stepped forth as if to shelter me from the overwhelming merri- 
ment of my companions. 

" Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, but you have 
had your laugh, and the joke of the haunted chamber has been 
enjoyed. I must nov/ take the part of my guest. I must not 
only vindicate him from your pleasantries, but I must recon- 
cile him to himself, for I suspect he is a httle out of humor with 
his own feelings ; and above all, I must crave his pardon for 
having made liim the subject of a kind of expermient. 

"Yes, gentlemen, there is something strange and peculiar in 
the chamber to which our friend was shown last night. There 
is a picture which possesses a singular and mysterious influence ; 
and with wliich there is connected a very curious story. It is 
a picture to wliich I attach a value from a variety of circum- 
stances; and though I have often been tempted to destroy it 
from the odd and uncomfortable sensations it produces in every 
one that beholds it; yet I have never been able to prevail upon 
myself to make the sacrifice. It is a picture I never Mke to look 
upon myself; and which is held in awe by all my servants. I 
have, therefore, banished it to a room but rarely used; and 
should have had it covered last night, had not the nature of our 
conversation, and the whimsical talk about a haunted chamber 
tempted me to let it remain, by v/ay of experiment, whether a 
stranger, totally unacquainted Avith its story, would be affected 
by it." 

Tlie words of the Baronec had turned every thought into a 
different channel; all were anxious to hear the storv of the 



40 TALES OF A TUA V/^LLEB. 

mysterious picture ; and for rayself , so strongly Yv^ere my feel- 
ings interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the experiment 
which my host had made upon my nerves, and joined eagerly 
in the general entreaty. 

As the morning was stormy, and precluded all egress, my 
host was glad of any means of entertaining his com.pany ; so 
drawing his arm-chair beside the fire, he began — 



THE ADVENTUEE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 

Many years since, vdien I was a young man, and had just 
left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour to finish my educa- 
tion. I believe my parents had tried in vain to inoculate me 
with wisdom ; so they sent me to mingle with society, in hopes 
I might take it the natural way. Such, at least, appears to be 
the reason for which nine-tenths of our youngsters are sent 
abroad. 

In the course of my tour I remained some time at Venice. 
The romantic character of the place delighted me ; I was very 
much amused by the air of adventure and intrigue that pre- 
vailed in this region of masks and gondolas ; and I was exceed- 
ingly smitten by a pair of languishing black eyes, that played 
upon my heart from under an Italian mantle. So I persuaded 
myself that I was lingering at Venice to study men and man- 
ners. At least I persuaded my friends so, and that answered 
all my purpose. Indeed, I was a little prone to be struck by 
peculiarities in character and conduct, and my imagination 
was so full of romantic associations with Italy, that I was 
always on the lookout for adventure. 

Every thing chimed in with such a humor in this old mer- 
maid of a city. My suite of apartments were in a proud, mel- 
ancholy palace on the grand canal, formerly the residence of a 
Magnifico, and sum.ptuous with the traces of decayed grandeur. 
My gondolier was one of the shrewdest of his class, active, 
merry, intelligent, and, like his brethren, secret as the grave ; 
that is to say, secret to all the world except his master. I had 
not had him a vf eek before he put me behind all the curtams in 
Venice. I liked the silence and mystery of the place, and when 
I sometimes sa.w from my window a black gondola gliding 
mysteriously along in the dusk of the evening, with nothing 



ADVENTURE OF THE MTSTERIOUS STRANGER. 41 

visible but its little glimmering Ipaitern, I would jump into my 
own zenduletto, and give a signal for pursuit. But I am run- 
ning a.way from my subject with the recollection of youthful 
follies, said the Baronet, checking himself; "let me come to 
the point." 

Among my familiar resorts was a Cassino under the Arcades 
on one side of the gra.nd square of St. Mark. Here I used fre- 
quently to lounge and take my ice on those warm summer 
nights when in Italy every body lives abroad until morning. 
I was seated here one evening, when a group of Itahans took 
seat at a table on the opposite side of 'the saloon. Their con- 
versation was gay and animated, and carried on with Italian 
vivacity and gesticulation. 

I remarked among them one young man, however, who 
appeared to take no share, and find no enjoyment in the con- 
versation ; though he seemed to force himself to attend to it. 
He was tall and slender, and of extremely prepossessing ap- 
pearance. His features were fine, though emaciated. He 
had a pi'ofusion of black glossy hair that curled hghtly about his 
head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness of his coun- 
tenance. His brow was haggard; deep furrows seemed to 
have been ploughed into his visage by care, not by age, for he 
was evidently in the prime of youth. His eye was fidl of ex- 
pression and fire, but wild and unsteady. He seemed to be 
tormented by some strange fancy or apprehension. In spite of 
every eiiort to fix his attention on the conversation of his 
companions, I noticed that every now and then he wotdd turn 
his head slowly round, give a glance over his shoulder, and 
then withdraw it with a sudden jerk, as if something painful 
had met his eye. This was repeated at intervals of about a 
minute, and he appeared hardly to have got over one shock, 
before I saw him slowly preparing to encounter another. 

After sitting some time in the Cassino, the party paid for the 
refreshments they had iaken, and departed. The young man 
was the last to leave the saloon, and I remarked hmi glancing 
beliind him in the same way, just as he passed out at the door. 
I could not resist the impulse to rise and follow him ; for I was 
at an age when a romantic feeling of curiosity is easily awak- 
ened. The party v/alked slowly down the Arcades, talking and 
laughing as they went. They crossed the Piazzetta, but paused 
in the middle of it to enjoy the scene. It was one of those 
moonlight nights so briUiant and clear in the pure atmosphere 
of Italy. The moon-beams streamed on the taU tower of St. 



42 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

Mark, and lighted up the magnificent front and swelling domes 
of the Cathedral. The party expressed their delight in anima- 
ted terms. I kept my eye upon the young man. He alone 
seemed abstracted and self-occupied. I noticed the same sin- 
gular, and, as it were, furtive glance over the shoulder that had 
attracted my attention in the Cassino. The party moved on, 
and I followed ; they passed along the walks called the Broglio ; 
turned the corner of the Ducal palace, and getting into a gon- 
dola, glided swiftly away. 

The countenance and conduct of this young man dwelt upon 
my mind. There was something in his appearance that inter- 
ested me exceedingly. I met him a, day or two after in a 
gallery of paintings. He was evidently a connoisseur, for he 
always singled out the most masterly productions, and the few 
remarks drawn from him by his companions showed an 
intimate acquaintance with the art. His own taste, however, 
ran on singular extremes. On Salvafcor Eosa in his most sav- 
age and solitary scenes; on Raphael, Titian, and Corregio in 
their softest delineations of female beauty. On these he would 
occasionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this seemed 
only a mom-cntary forgetfulness. Still would recur that cau- 
tious glance behind, and always quickly withdrawn, as though 
something terrible had met his view, 

I encountered him frequently afterwards. At the theatre, 
at balls, at concerts ; at the promenades in the gardens of San 
Georgio; at the grotesque exhibitions in the square of St. 
Mark; among the throng of merchants on the Exchange by 
the Rialto. He seemed, in fact, to seek crowds; to hunt after 
bustle and amusement ; yet never to take any interest in either 
the business or gayety of the scene. Ever an air of painful 
thought, of wretched abstraction; and ever that strange and 
recurring movement, of glancing fearfully over the shoulder. 
I did not know at first but this might be caused by appre- 
hension of arrest; or perhaps from dread of assassination. 
But, if so, why should he go thus continually abroad; why 
expose himself at all times and in all places? 

I became anxious to know this stranger. I was drawn to 
him by. that romantic sympathy that sometimes draws young 
men towards each other. His melancholy threv/ a charm about 
him in my eyes, which was no doubt heightened by the touch- 
ing expression of his countenance, and the manly graces of his 
person ; for manly beauty has its effect even upon man, I had 
an Englishman's habitual diflidence and awkwardness of ad- 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 43 

dress to contend with; but I subdued it, and from frequently- 
meeting him in the Cassino, gradually edged myself into his 
acquaintance. I had no reserve on his part to contend with. 
He seemed on the contrary to court society ; and in fact to seek 
anything rather than be alone. 

When he found I really took an interest in him he threw him- 
self entirely upon my friendship. He clung to me like a drown- 
ing man. He would walk with me for hours up and down the 
place of St. Mark— or he would sit until night was far advanced 
in my apartment ; he took rooms under the same roof with me ; 
and his constant request was, that I would permit him, when 
it did not incommode me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was 
not that he seemed to take a particular delight in my conversa- 
tion; but rather that he craved the vicinity of a human being; 
and above all, of a being that sym^pathized with him. "I have 
often heard," said he, " of the sincerity of Enghshmen— thank 
God I have one at length for a friend !" 

Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my sympa- 
thy other than by mere companionship. He never sought to 
unbosom himself to me; there appeared to be a settled corrod- 
ing anguish m his bosom that neither could be soothed "by 
silence nor by speaking." A devouring melancholy preyed 
upon his heart, and seemed to be drying up the very blood in 
his veins. It was not a soft melancholy— the disease of the 
affections; but a parching, withering agony. I could see at 
times that his mouth was dry and feverish; he ahnost panted 
rather than breathed; his eyes were bloodshot r his cheeks pale 
and Hvid; v/ith now and then faint streaks athwart them— 
baleful gleams of the fire that was consuming his heart. As my 
arm was within his, I felt him press it at times with a convul- 
sive motion to his side; his hands would clinch themselves in- 
voluntarily, and a kind of shudder would run through his 
frame. I reasoned with him about his melancholy, and sought 
to draw from him the cause— he shrunk from all confiding. 
"Do not seek to know it," said he, "you could not relieve it 
if you knew it ; you would not- even seek to reheve it— on the 
contrary, I should lose your sympathy; and that," said he, 
pressmg my hand convulsively, "that I feel has become too 
dear to me to risk. " 

I endeavored to awaken hope within him. He was young; 
hfe had a thousand pleasures m store for him; there is a healthy 
reaction in the youthful heart; it medicines its own wounds— 
" Come, come," said I, "there is no grief so great that youth 



44 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

cannot outgrow it." — "No! no!" said he, clinching his teeth, 
and striking repeatedly, with the energy of despair, upon his 
bosom— "It is here— here— deep-rooted ; draining my heart's 
blood. It grows and grows, while my heart withers and with- 
ers ! I have a dreadful monitor that gives me no repose— that 
follows me step by step ; and will follow me step by step, until 
it pushes me into my grave !" 

As he said this he gave involuntarily one of those fearful 
glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back with more than 
usual horror. I could not resist the temptation to allude to 
this movement, which I supposed to be some mere malady of 
the nerves. The moment I mentioned it his face became crim- 
soned and comailsed— he grasped me by both hands : ' ' For God's 
sake," exclaimed he, with a piercing agony of voice— "never 
allude to that again ; let us avoid this subject, my friend : you 
cannot relieve me, indeed you cannot relieve me ; but you may 
add to the torments I suffer :— at some future day you shall 
know all." 

I never resumed the subject; for however much my curiosity 
might be aroused, I felt too true i compassion for his suffer- 
ings to increase them by my intrusion. I sought various ways 
to divert his mind, and to arouse him from the constant medi- 
tations in Avhich he was plunged. He saw my efforts, and sec- 
onded them as far as in his pov/er, for there was nothing moody 
or wayward in his nature; on the contrary, there was some- 
thing frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole deportment. 
All the sentiments that he uttered were noble and lofty. He 
claimed no indulgence; he asked no toleration. He seemed 
content to carry his load of misery in silence, and only sought 
to carry it by my side. There was a mute bofjeeching manner 
about him, as if he craved companionship as a charitable boon ; 
and a tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he felt grateful to 
me for not repulsing him. 

I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over my 
spirits; interfered mth all my gay pursuits, and gradually 
saddened my life; yet I could not prevail upon myself to shake 
off a being who seemed to hang upon me for support. In truth, 
the generous traits of character that beamed through all this 
gloom had penetrated to my heart. His bounty was lavish and 
open-handed. His charity melting and spontaneous. Not con- 
fined to mere donations, which often humiliate as much as they 
relieve. The tone of his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced 
every gift, and surprised the poor suppliant wuth that rarest 



ADVENTUnE OF THE MYSTERIOUS STB ANGER. 45 

and sweetest of charities, the charity not merely of the hand, 
but of the heart. Indeed, his hberality seemed to have some- 
thing in it of self-abasement and expiation. He humbled him- 
self, in a manner, before the mendicant. "What right have I 
to ease and affluence," would he murmur to himself, "when 
innocence wanders in misery and rags?" 

The Carnival time arrived. I had hoped that the gay scenes 
which then presented themselves might have some cheering 
effect. I mingled with him in the motley throng that crowded 
the place of St. Mark. We frequented operas, masquerades, 
balls. All in vain. The evil kept growing on him ; he became 
more and more haggard and agitated. Often, after we had re- 
turned from one of these scenes of revelry, I have entered his 
room, and found him lying jon his face on the sofa: his hands 
clinched in his fine hair, and his whole countenance bearing 
traces of the convulsions of his mind. 

The Carnival passed away; the season of Lent succeeded; 
Passion week arrived. We attended one evening a solemn ser- 
vice in one of the churches ; in the course of which a grand 
piece of vocal and instrumental music was performed relating 
to the death of our Saviour. 

I had remarked that he was always powerfully affected by 
music ; on this occasion he was so in an extraordinary degree. . 
As the peehng notes swelled through the lofty a isles, he seemed 
to kindle up with fervor. His eyes rolled upwards, imtil noth- 
ing but the whites were visible; his hands were clasped to- 
gether, until the fingers were deeply imprinted in the fiesh. 
¥/hen the music expressed the dying agony, his face gradually 
sunk upon his knees ; and at the touching words resounding 
through the church, ^^Jesu mori,^^ gobs burst from him uncon- 
trolled. I had never seen him weep before ; his had always 
b'^en agony rather than sorrow. I augured vv^ell from the cir- 
cumstance. I let liim weep on uninterrupted. When the ser- 
vice was ended we left the church. He hung on my arm as we 
walked homewards, with something of a softer and more sub- 
dued manner ; instead of that nervous agitation I had been ac- 
customed to witness. He alluded to the service we had heard. 
"Music," said he, " is indeed the voice of heaven ; never before 
have I felt more unpressed by the story of the atonement of 
our Saviour. Yes,' my friend," said he, clasping his hands with 
a kind of transport, " I know that my Redeemer liveth." 

We parted for the night. His room was not far from mine, 
and I heard him for some tune busied in it. I fell asleep, but 



46 TjUjEs of a tea velleb. 

was awakened before daylight. The young man stood by my 
bed-side, dressed for travellhig. He held a sealed packet and 
a large parcel in his hand, which he laid on the table. " Fare- 
well, my friend," said he, "I am about to set forth on a long 
journey ; but, before I go, I leave with you these remembrances. 
In this packet you will find the particulars of my story. 
When you read them, I shall be far away ; do not remember 
me with aversion. You have been, indeed, a friend to me. 
You have poured oil into a broken heart, — but you could not 
heal it. — Farewell — let me kiss your hand— I am unworthy to 
embrace you." He sunk on his knees, seized my hand in 
despite of my efforts to the contrary, and covered it with kisses. 
I was so surprised by all this scene that I had not been able to 
say a word. 

But we shall meet again, said I, hastily, as I saw hun hurry- 
ing towards the door. 

' ' Never — never in this world !" said he, solemnly. He sprang 
once more to my bed-side — seized my hand, pressed it to his 
heart and to his lips, and rushed out of the room. 

Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in thought, and 
sat looking upon the floor and drummmg with his fingers on 
the arm of his chair. 

"And did this mysterious personage return?" said the 
inquisitive gentleman. "Never!" replied the Baronet, with a 
pensive shake of the head: " I never saw him again. " "And 
pray what has all this to do with the picture?" inquired the old 
gentleman with the nose — " True!" said the questioner — "Is it 
the portrait of this crack-brained Italian?" "No!" said the 
Baronet drily, not half liking the appellation given to his hero ; 
' ' but this picture was inclosed in the parcel he left with me. The 
sealed packet contained its explanation. There was a request 
on the outside that I would not open it until six months had 
elapsed. I kept my promise, in spite of my curiosity. I have 
Qu translation of it by me, and had meant to read it, by way of 
accounting for the mystery of the chamber, but I fear I have 
already detained the company too long." 

Here there was a general wish expressed to have the manu- 
script read ; particularly on the part of the inquisitive gentle- 
man. So the worthy Baronet drew out a fairly Avritten 
manuscript, and wiping his spectacles, read aloud the following 
story: 



THE' STORY OF THE TOUNG ITALIAN. 47 



THE STOEY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 

I WAS born at Naples. My parents, though of noble rank, 
were limited in fortime, or rather my father v/as ostentatious 
beyond his means, and expended so much in his palace, his 
equipage, and his retinue, that he was continually straitened 
in his pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger son, and 
looked upon with indifference by my father, who, from a prin- 
ciple of family pride, wished to leave all his property to my 
elder brother. 

I showed, when quite a child, an extreme sensibility. Every 
thing affected me violently. While yet an infant in my 
mother's arms, and before I had learnt to talk, I could be 
wrought upon to a wonderful degree of anguish or delight by 
the power of music. As I grew older my feelings remained 
equally acute, and I was easily transported into paroxysms of 
pleasure or rage. It was the amusement of my relatives and 
of the domestics to play upon this irritable temperament. I 
Avas moved to tears, tickled to laugliter, provoked to fury, 
for the entertainment of company, who were amused by- 
such a tempest of mighty passion in a pigmy frame. They 
little thought, or perhaps little heeded the dangerous sensibili- 
ties they were fostering. I thus became a little creature of 
passion, before reason was developed. In a short time I grew 
too old to be a plaything, and then I became a torment. The 
tricks and passions I had been teased into became irksome, and 
I was dishked by my teachers for the very lessons they had 
taught me. 

My mother died; and my power as a spoiled cliild was at 
an end. There was no longer any necessity to humor or 
tolerate me, for there was nothing to be gained by it, as I was 
no favorite of my father. I therefore experienced the fate of a 
spoiled child in such situation, and was neglected or noticed 
only to be crossed and contradicted. Such vv-as the early treat- 
ment of a heart, which, if I am judge of it at aU, was naturally 
disposed to the extremes of tenderness and affection. 

My father, as I have already said, never liked me— in fact, 
he never understood me; he looked upon me as ^vilful and 
wayward, as deficient in natural affection :— it was the stateli- 
ness of his own manner ; the loftiness and grandeur of his own 
look tlmt had repelled me from his arms. I always pictured 



48" TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

him to myself as I had seen him clad in his senatorial robes, 
rustling with pomp and pride. The magnificence of his person 
had daunted my strong imagination. I could never approach 
him with the confiding affection of a child. 

My father's feelings were wrapped up in my elder brother. 
He was to be the inheritor of the family title and the family 
dignity, and every thing was sacrificed to him— I, as well as 
every thing else. It was determined to devote me to the church, 
that so my humors and myself might be removed out of the 
way, either of tasking my father's time and trouble, or inter- 
fering with the interests of my brother. At an early age, 
therefore, before my mind had dawned upon the world and its 
delights, or known any thing of it beyond the precincts of my 
father's palace, I was sent to a convent, the superior of which 
was my uncle, and was confided entirely to his care. 

My uncle was a man totally estra^nged from the world ; he 
had never relished, for he had never tasted its x)leasures ; and 
he deemed rigid self-denial as the great basis of Clmstian virtue. 
He considered every one's temperament like his own ; or at 
least he made them conform to it. His character and habits 
had an influence over the fraternity of which he v/as superior. 
A more gloomy, saturnine set of beings were nexer assembled 
together. The convent, too, was calculated to awaken sad and 
solitary thoughts. It was situated in a gloomy gorge of those 
mountains a-way south of Vesuvius. AU distant views were 
shut out by sterile volcanic heights. A mountain stream raved 
beneath its walls, and eagles screamed about its turrets. 

I had been sent to this place at so tender an age as soon to 
lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I had left behind. 
As my mind expanded, therefore, it formed its idea of the 
world from the convent and its vicinity, and a dreary world it 
appeared to me. An early tinge of melancholy was thus 
infused into my character ; and the dismal stories of the monks, 
about devils and evil spirits, with which they affrighted my 
young imagination, gave me a tendency to superstition, 
which I could never effectually shake off. They took the same 
delight to work upon my ardent feelings that had been so mis- 
chievously exercised by my father's household. 

I can recoUect the horrors with which they fed my heated 
fancy during an eruption of Vesuvius. We were distant from 
that volcano, with mountains between us; but its convulsive 
throes shook the solid foundations of nature. Earthquakes 
threatened to topple down our convent towers. A lurid, bale- 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 49 

ful light hung in the heavens at night, and showers of ashes, 
borne by the wind, fell in our narrow valley. The monks 
talked of the earth bemg honey-combed beneath us ; of streams 
of molten la,va raging through its veins ; of caverns of sulphur- 
ous flames roaring in the centre, the a^bodes of demons and the 
damned ; of fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath our feet. All 
these tales were told to the doleful accompaniment of the 
mountain's thunders, whose low bellowing made the walls of 
our convent vibrate. 

One of the monks had been a painter, but had retired from 
the world, and embraced this dismal life in expiation of some 
crime. He was a melancholy man, who pursued his art in the 
solitude of Ms cell, but made it a source of penance to him. 
His employment was to portray, either on canvas or in waxen 
models, the human face and human form, in the agonies of 
death and in all the stages of dissolution and decay. The fear- 
ful mysteries of the charnel house were unfolded in his labors — 

the loathsome banquet of the beetle and the worm. 1 turn 

with shuddermg even from the recollection of his works. Yet, 
at that time, my strong, but ill-directed miagination seized 
with ardor upon his instructions in his art. Any thing was a 
variety from the dry studies and monotonous duties of the 
cloister. In a little while I became expert with my pencil, and 
my gloomy productions v\^ere thought worthy of decorating 
some of the altars of the chapel. 

In tliis dismal way was a creature of feeling and fancy 
brought up. Every thing genial and amiable in my nature was 
repressed and nothing brought out but what was unprofitable 
and ungracious. I was ardent in my temperament; quick, 
mercurial, impetuous, formed to be a creature aU love and 
adoration ; but a leaden hand was laid on aU my finer qualities. 
I was taught nothing but fear and hatred. I hated my uncle, 
I hated the monks, I hated the convent in which I was im- 
mured. I hated the world, and I almost hated myself, for 
being, as I supposed, so hating and hateful an animal. 

When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I was 
suffered, on one occasion, to accompany one of the brethren 
on a mission to a distant part of the country. We soon left be- 
hind us the gloomy valley in which I had been pent up for so 
many years, and after a short journey among the mountains, 
emerged upon the voluptuous landscape that spreads itself 
about the Bay of Naples. Heavens ! how transported was I, 
when I stretched my gaze over a vast reach of delicious sunny 



50 TALES OF A TIIAVELLEH. 

country, gay with groves and vineyards ; with Vesuvius rear- 
ing its forked summit to my right ; the blue Mediterranean to 
my left, with its enchanting coast, studded with shining towns 
and sumptuous villas; and Naples, my native Naples, gleam- 
ing far, far in the distance. 

Good God ! was this the lovely world from which I had been 
excluded ! I had reached that age when the sensibilities are 
in all their bloom and freshness. Mine had been checked and 
chilled. They now burst forth with the suddenness of a 
retarded spring. My heart, hitherto unnaturally shrunk up, 
expanded into a riot of vague, but delicious emotions. The 
beauty of nature intoxicated, bewildered me. The song of the 
peasants ; their cheerful looks ; their happy avocations ; the pic- 
turesque gayety of their dresses; their rustic music; their 
dances ; all broke upon me like witchcraft. My soul responded 
to the music ; my heart danced in my bosom. All the men 
appeared amiable, all the women lovely. 

I returned to the convent, that is to say, my body returned 
but my heart and soul never entered there again. I could not 
forget this glimpse of a beautiful and a happy world ; a world 
so suited to my natural character. I had felt so happy while 
in it ; so different a being from what I felt myself while in the 
convent— that tomb of the living. I contrasted the counte- 
nances of the beings I had seen, full of fire and freshness and 
enjoyment, v/ith the pallid, leaden, lack-lustre visages of the 
monks ; the music of the dance, with the droning chant of the 
chapel. I had before found the exercises of the cloister weari- 
some ; they now became intolerable. The dull round of duties 
wore away my spirit ; my nerves became irritated by the fret- 
ful tinkling of the convent bell; evermore dinging among 
the mountain echoes ; evermore calling me from my repose at 
night, my pencil by day, to attend to some tedious and 
mechanical ceremony of devotion. 

I was not of a nature to meditate long, without putting my 
thoughts into action. My spirit had been suddenly aroused, 
and was now all awake within me. I watched my opportunity, 
fled from the convent, and made my way on foot to Naples. 
As I entered its gay and crowded streets, and beheld the 
variety and stir of life around me, the luxury of palaces, the 
splendor of equipages, and the pantomJmic animation of the 
motley populace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of 
enchantment, and solemnly vowed that nothing should force 
me back to the monotony of the cloister. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUIsG ITALIAN. 51 

I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I had 
been so young on leaving it, that I knew not its situation. I 
found some difficulty in getting admitted to my father's pres- 
ence, for the domestics scarcely knew that there was such a 
being as myself in existence, and my monastic dress did not 
operate in my favor. Even my father entertained no recollec- 
tion of my person. I told him my name, threw myself at his 
feet, implored his forgiveness, and entreated that I might not 
be sent back to the convent. 

He received me with the condescension of a patron rather 
than the kindness of a parent. He listened patiently, but 
coldly, to my tale of monastic grievances and disgLists, and 
promised to think what else could be done for me. This cold- 
ness bhghted and drove back all the frank affection of my 
nature that was ready to spring forth at the least warmth of 
parental kindness. AH my early feelings towards my father 
revived ; I again looked up to him as the stately magnificent 
being that had daunted my childish imagination, and felt as if 
I had no pretensions to his sympathies. My brother engrossed 
all his care and love ; he inherited his nature, and carried him- 
self towards me with a protectmg rather than a fraternal air. 
It wounded my pride, which was great. I could brook conde- 
scension from my father, for I looked up to him with awe as a 
superior being, but I could not brook patronage from a brother, 
who, I felt, was inteUectuaUy my inferior. The servants per- 
ceived that I was an unwelcome intruder in the paternal man- 
sion, and, menial- hke, they treated me with neglect. Thus 
baffled at every point ; my affections outraged wherever they 
would attach themselves, I became sullen, silent, and despon- 
dent. My feehngs driven back upon myself, entered and 
preyed upon my own heart. I remained for some days an 
unwelcome guest rather than a restored son in my father's 
house. I was doomed never to be properly known there. I 
was made, by wrong treatment, strange even to myself; and 
they judged of me from my strangeness. 

I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks of my 
convent, gliding out of my father's room. He saw me, but 
pretended not to notice me ; and this very hypocrisy made me 
suspect something. I had become sore and susceptible in my 
feelings ; every thing inflicted a wound on them. In this state 
of mind I was treated with marked disrespect by a pampered 
minion, the favorite servant of my father. All the pride and 



52 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

passion of my nature rose in an instant, and I struck him to 
the earth. 

My father was passing by; he stopped not to inquire the 
reason, nor indeed could he read the long course of mental suf- 
ferings which were the real cause. He rebuked me with anger 
and scorn ; he summoned all the haughtiness of his nature, and 
grandeur of his look, to give weight to the contumely with 
which he treated me. I felt I had not deserved it — I felt that I 
was not appreciated — I felt that I had that within me which 
merited better treatment ; my heart swelled against a father's 
injustice. I broke through my habitual awe of him. I rephed 
to him with impatience ; my hot spirit flushed in my cheek and 
kindled in my eye, but my sensitive heart swelled as quickly, 
and before I had half vented my passion I felt it suffocated and 
quenched in my tears. My father was astonished and incensed 
at this turning of the worm, and ordered me to my chamber. 
I retired in silence, choking with contending emotions. 

I had not been long there when I overheard voices in an ad- 
joining apartment. It was a consultation between my father 
and the monk, about the means of getting me back quietly to 
the convent. My resolution was taken. I had no longer a 
home nor a father. That very night I left the paternal roof. 
I got on board a vessel about making sail from the harbor, and 
abandoned myself to the wide world. No matter to what port 
she steered ; any part of so beautiful a world was better than 
my convent. No matter where I was cast by fortune; any 
place would be more a home to me than the home I had left 
behind. The vessel was bound to Genoa. We arrived there 
after a voyage of a few days. 

As I entered the harbor, between the moles which embrace it, 
and beheld the amphitheatre of palaces and churches and 
splendid gardens, rising one above another, I felt at once its 
title to the appellation of Genoa the Superb. I landed on the 
mole an utter stranger, without knov/ing what to do, or whither 
to direct my steps. No matter ; I was released from the thral- 
dom of the convent and the humiliations of home! When I 
traversed the Strada Balbi and the Strada Nuova, those streets 
of palaces, and gazed at the wonders of architecture around 
me ; when I wandered at close of day, amid a gay throng of 
the brilliant and the beautiful, through the green alleys of the 
Aqua Verdi, or among the colonnades and terraces of the mag- 
nificent Doria Gardens, I thought it impossible to be ever other- 
wise than happy in Genoa. 



THE 8T011Y OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 53 

A few days sufficed to show me my mistake. My scanty 
purse was exhausted, and for the first time in my life I ex- 
perienced the sordid distress of penury. I had never known 
the want of money, and had never adverted to the possibihty 
of such an evil. I was ignorant of the world and all its ways ; 
and when first the idea of destitution came over my mind its 
effect was withering. I was wandering pensively through the 
streets which no longer delighted my eyes, when chance led my 
steps into the magnificent church of the Annunciata. 

A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment superin- 
tending the placing of one of his pictures over an altar. The 
proficiency which I had acquired in his art during my residence 
in the convent had made me an enthusiastic amateur. I was 
struck, at the first glance, with the painting. It was the face 
of a Madonna. So innocent, so lovely, such a divine expression 
of maternal tenderness ! I lost for the moment all recollection 
of myself in the enthusiasm of my art. I clasped my hands 
together, and uttered an ejaculation of dehght. The painter 
perceived my emotion. He was flattered and gratified by it. 
My air and manner pleased him, and he accosted me. I felt too 
much the want of friendship to repel the advances of a stranger, 
and there was something in this one so benevolent and winning 
that in a moment he gained my confidence. 

I told him my story and my situation, concealing only my 
name and rank. He appea^red strongly interested by my recital ; 
invited me to his house, and from that time I became his 
favorite pupil. He thought he perceived in me extraordinary 
talents for the art, and bis encomiums awakened all my ardor. 
What a blissful period of my existence was it that I passed be- 
neath his roof. Another being seemed created within me, or 
rather, all that was amiable and excellent was drawn out. I 
was as recluse as ever I had been at the convent, but how dif- 
ferent was my seclusion. My time was spent in storing my 
mind with lofty and poetical ideas ; in meditating on all that 
was striking and noble in history or fiction ; in studying and 
tracing all that was sublime and beautiful in nature. I was 
always a visionary, imaginative being, but now my reveries 
and imaginings all elevated me to rapture. 

I looked up to my master as to a benevolent genius that had 
opened to me- a region of enchantment. I became devotedly 
attached to him. He was not a native of Genoa, but had been 
drawn thither by the solicitation of several of the nobility, and 
had resided there but a few years, for the completion of cer- 



54 ..TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tain works he had undertaken. His health was dehcate, and 
he had to confide much of the filhng up of his designs to the 
pencils of his scholars. He considered me as particularly 
happy in delineating the human countenance ; in seizing upon 
characteristic, though fleeting expressions and fixing them 
powerfully upon my canvas. I was employed continually, 
therefore, in sketching faces, and often when some particular 
grace or beauty or expression was wanted in a countenance, it 
was entrusted to my pencil. My benefactor was fond of bringing 
me forward ; and partly, perhaps, through my actual skill, and 
partly by his partial praises, I began to be noted for the expres- 
sion of my countenances. 

Among the various works Avhich he had undertaken, was an 
historical piece for one of the palaces of Genoa, in which were 
to be introduced the likenesses of several of the family. Among 
these was one entrusted to my pencil. It was that of a young 
girl, who as yet was in a convent for her education. She came 
out for the purpose of sitting for the picture. I first saw her 
in an apartment of one of the sumptuous palaces of Genoa. 
She stood before a casement that looked out upon the bay, a 
stream of vernal sunshine fell upon her, and shed a kind of 
glory round her as it lit up the rich crimson chamber. She was 
but sixteen years of age — and oh, how lovely ! The scene broke 
upon me like a mere vision of spring and youth and beauty. I 
could have fallen down and worshipped her. She was like one 
of those fictions of poets and painters, when they would express 
the beau ideal that haunts their minds with shapes of indescrib- 
able perfection. 

I was permitted to sketch her countenance in various posi- 
tions, and I fondly protracted the study that was undoing me. 
The more I gazed on her the more I became enamoured; 
there was something almost painful in my intense admiration. 
I was but nineteen years of age ; shy, diffident, and inexperi- 
enced. I was treated with attention and encouragement, for 
my youth and my enthusiasm in my art had won fa.vor for 
me; and I am inclined to think that there was something 
in my air and manner that inspired interest and respect. 
Still the kindness with which I was treated could not dispel the 
embarrassment into which my own imagination threw me 
when in presence of this lovely being. It elevated her into 
something almost more than mortal. She seemed too exquisite 
for earthly use ; too delicate and exalted for human attainment. 
As I sat tracing her charms on my canvas, with my eyes 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 55 

occasionally riveted on lier features, I drank in delicious poison 
that made me giddy. My heart alternately gushed with ten- 
derness, and ached with despair. Now I became more than 
ever sensible of the violent fires that had lain dormant at the 
bottom of my soul. You who are born in a more temperate 
climate and under a cooler sky, have httle idea of the violence 
of passion in our southern bosoms. 

A few days finished my task ; Bianca returned to her con- 
vent, but her image remained indelibly impressed upon my 
heart. It dwelt on my imagination ; it became my pervading 
idea of beauty. It had an effect even upon my pencil; I 
became noted for my felicity in depicting female loveliness ; it 
was but because I multiplied the image of Bianca. I soothed, 
and yet fed my fancy, by introducing her in all the produc- 
tions of my master. I have stood with delight in one of the 
chapels of the Annunciata, and heard the crowd extol the 
seraphic beauty of a saint which I had painted ; I have seen 
them bow down in adoration before the painting: they were 
bowing before the loveliness of Bianca. 

I existed in this kind of dream, I might almost say 
delirium, for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity of my 
imagination that the image which was formed in it continued 
in all its power and freshness. Indeed, I was a solitary, medi- 
tative being, much given to reverie, and apt to foster ideas 
which had once taken strong possession of me. I was roused 
from this fond, melancholy, delicious dream by the death of 
my worthy benefactor. I cannot describe the pangs liis death 
occasioned me. It left me alone and almost broken-hearted. 
He bequeathed to me his little property ; which, from the liber- 
ality of his disposition and his expensive style of living, was 
indeed but small ; and he most particularly recommended me, 
in dying, to the protection of a nobleman who had been his 
patron. 

The latter was a man who passed for munificent. He was a 
lover and an encourager of the arts, and e^adently wished to 
be thought so. He fancied he saw in me indications of future 
excellence; my pencil had already attracted attention ; hetook 
me at once imder his protection; seeing that I was over- 
whelmed with grief, and incapable of exerting myself in the 
mansion of my late benefactor, he invited me to sojourn for a 
time in a villa wliich he possessed on the border of the sea, in 
the picturesque neighborhood of Sostri de Ponenti. 

I found a.t the viHa the Count's only son, Filippo : he was 



56 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

nearly of my age, prepossessing in liis appearance, and fascinat- 
ing in his manners ; he attached himself to me, and seemed to 
court my good opinion. I thought there was something of 
l^rof ession in his kindness, and of caprice in his disposition ; 
but I had nothing else near me to attach myself to, and my 
heart felt the need of something to repose itself upon. His 
education had been neglected; he looked upon me as his 
superior in mental powers and acquirements, and tacitly 
acknowledged my superiority. I felt that I was his equal in 
birth, and that gave an independence to my manner which 
had its effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw sometimes exer- 
cised on others, over whom he had power, were never mani- 
fested towards me. We became intimate friends, and frequent 
companions. Still I loved to be alone, and to indulge in the 
reveries of my own imagination, among the beautiful scenery 
by which I was surrounded. 

The villa stood in tiie m.idst of ornamented grounds, finely 
decorated with statues and fountains, and laid out into groves 
and alleys and shadj^ bowers. It commanded a wide view of 
the Mediterranean, and the picturesque Ligurian coast. 
Every thing was assembled here that could gratify the taste or 
agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the tranquillity of 
this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my feelings gradually 
subsided, and, blending with the romantic spell that still 
reigned over my imagination, produced a soft voluptuous 
melancholy. 

I had not been long under the roof of the Count, when our 
solitude was enlivened by another inhabitant. It was a 
daughter of a relation of the Count, who had lately died in 
reduced circumstances, bequeathing this only child to his pro- 
tection. I had heard much of her beauty from Filippo, but my 
fancy had become so engrossed by one idea of beauty as not to 
admit of any other. We were in the central saloon of the 
villa when she arrived. She was still in mourning, and 
approached, leaning on the Count's arm. As they ascended 
the marble portico, I was struck by the elegance of her figure 
and movement, by the grace with which the mezzai^o, the 
bewitching veil of Genoa, was folded about her slender form. 
They entered. Heavens! what was my surprise when I 
beheld Bianca before me. It was herself ; pale Avith grief ; but 
still more matured in loveliness than when I had last beheld 
her. The time that had elapsed had developed the graces of 



THE STOEY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 57 

her person ; and the sorrow she had undergone had diffused 
over her countenance an irresistible tenderness. 

She bhished and trembled at seeing me, and tears rushed 
into her eyes, for she remembered in whose company she 
had been accustomed to behold me. For my part, I can- 
not express what were my emotions. By degrees I overcame 
the extreme shyness that had formerly paralyzed me in her 
presence. We were drawn together by sympathy of situation. 
We had each lost our best friend in the world ; we were each, 
in some measure thrown upon the kindness of others. When 
I came to know her intellectually, all my ideal picturings of 
her were confirmed. Her newness to the world, her delightful 
susceptibility to every thing beautiful and agi^eeabie in nature, 
reminded me of my own emotions when first I escaped from 
the convent. Her rectitude of thinking dehghted my judg- 
ment ; the sweetness of her nature wrapped itself around my 
heart ; and then her young and tender and budding loveliness, 
sent a delicious madness to my brain. 

I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as something more 
than mortal; and I felt humiliated at the idea of my compara- 
tive unworthiness. Yet she was mortal ; and one of mortality's 
most susceptible and loving compounds ; for she loved me ! 

How first I discovered the transporting truth I cannot recol- 
lect ; I believe it stole upon me by degrees, as a wonder past 
hope or belief. We were both at such a tender and loving age ; 
in constant intercourse with each other ; minghng in the same 
elegant pursuits; for music, poetry, and painting were our 
mutual delights, and we were almost separated from society, 
among lovely and romantic scenery ! Is it strange that two 
young hearts thus brought together should readily twine round 
each other? 

Oh, gods! what a dream — a transient dream! of unalloyed 
del^.ht then passed over my soul ! Then it was that the world 
around me was indeed a paradise, for I had a woman — lovely, 
delicious woman, to share it with me. How often have I ram- 
bled over the picturesque shores of Sestri, or climbed its wild 
mountains, with the coast gemmed with villas, and the blue 
sea far below me, and the slender Pharo of Genoa on its roman- 
tic promontory in the distance ; and as I sustained the faltering 
steps of Bianca, have thought there could no unhappiness 
enter into so beautiful a v/orld. Why, oh, why is this budding 
season of life and love so transient — why is this rosy cloud of 



58 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

love that sheds such a glow over the morning of our days so 
prone to brew up into the whirlwind and the storm ! 

I was the first to awaken from this blissful delirium of the 
affections. I had gained Bianca's heart ; what was I to do with 
it? I had no wealth nor prospects to entitle me to her hand. 
Was I to take advantage of her ignorance of the world, of her 
confiding affection, and draw her down to my own poverty? 
Was this requiting the hospitality of the Count? — was this 
requiting the love of Bianca? 

Now first I began to feel that even successful love may have 
its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about my heart. I 
moved about the palace like a guilty being. I felt as if I had 
abused its hospitality — as if I were a thief within its waU^s. I 
coidd no longer look with unembarrassed mien in the counte- 
nance of the Count. I accused myself of perfidy to him, and 
I thought he read it in my looks, and began to distrust and de- 
spise me. His manner had always been ostentatious and con- 
descending, it now appeared cold and haughty. Fihppo, too, 
became reserved and distant ; or at least I suspected hun to be 
so. Heavens ! — vv^as this mere coinage of my brain : was I to 
become suspicious of all the world?— a poor surmising wretch; 
watching looks and gestures ; and torturing myself with mis- 
constructions. Or if true -was I to remain beneath a roof 
where I was merely tolerated, and linger there on sufferance? 
"This is not to be endured ! " exclaim.ed I; "I will tear mysel 
from this state of self-abasement ; I will break through this fas- 
cination and fly Fly?— whither?— from the world?— for 

where is the world when I leave Bianca behind me !" 

My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me at the 
idea of being looked upon with contumely. ]\Iany times I was 
on the point of declaring my family and rank, and asserting 
my equality, in the presence of Bianca, when I thought her 
relatives assumed an air of superiority. But the fe^^tlg was 
transient. I considered myself discarded and contemned, by 
my family ; and had solemnly voAved never to own relationship 
to them, until they themselves should claim it. 

The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happiness and my 
health. It seemed as if the uncertainty of being loved would 
be less intolerable than thus to be assured of it, and yet not 
dare to enjoy the conviction. I was no longer the enraptured 
admirer of Bianca; I no longer hung in ecstasy on the tones of 
her voice, nor drank in with insatiate gaze the beauty of her 



TUB STORT OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 59 

countenance. Her very smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt 
culpable in having won them. 

She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and in- 
quired the cause with her usual frankness and simplicity. I 
could not evade the inquiry, for my heart wa.s full to aching. 
I told her all the conflict of my soul ; my devouring passion, 
my bitter self -upbraiding. "Yes!" said I, "I am unworthy 
of you. I am an offcast from my family — a wanderer — a name- 
less, homeless wanderer, with nothing but poverty for my por- 
tion, !and yet I have dared to love you— have dared to aspire 
to j^our love ! " 

]^,Iy agitation moved her to tears ; but she saw nothing in my 
situation so hopeless as I had depicted it. Brought up in a con- 
vent, she knew nothing of the world, its wants, its cares ;— and, 
indeed, what woman is a worldly casuist in m.atters of the 
heart !— Nay, more — she kindled into a sweet enthusiasm when 
she spoke of my fortunes and myself. We had dv/elt together 
on the works of the famous masters. I had related to her 
their histories ; the high reputation, the influence, the magnifi- 
cence to which they had attained ; — the companions of princes, 
the favorites of kings, the pride and boast of nations. All this 
she apphed to me. Her love saw notliing in their greatest 
productions that I was not able to achieve ; and when I saw 
the lovely creature glow with fervor, and her whole counte- 
nance radiant with the visions of my glory, which seemed 
breaking upon her, I was snatclied up for the moment into 
the heaven of her own imagination. 

I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story ; yet I 
cannot help hngering over a period of my life, on which, with 
all its cares and conflicts, I look back with fondnesss ; for as 
yet my soul was unstained by a crime. I do not know what 
might have been the result of this struggle between pride, 
delicacy, and passion, had I not read in a Neapohtan gazette 
an account of the sudden death of my brother. It was ac- 
companied by an earnest inquiry for intelligence concerning 
me, and a prayer, should this notice meet my eye, that I would 
hasten to Naples, to comfort an infirm and afflicted father. 

I was naturally of an affectionate disposition ; but my brother 
had never been as a brother to me ; I had long considered my- 
self as disconnected from hun, and his death caused me but 
little emotion. The thoughts of my father, infirm and suffer- 
ing, touched me, however, to the quick ; and when I thought 
of him, that lofty, magnificent being, now bowed down and 



60 TALES OF A TRA VELLEll 

desolate, and suing to me for comfort, all my resentment for 
past neglect was subdued, and a glow of filial affection was 
awakened within me. 

The predominant feeling, however, that overpowered all 
others was transport at the sudden change in my whole for- 
tunes, A home— a name— a rank— -wealth awaited me; and 
love painted a still more rapturous prospect in the distance. I 
hastened to Bianca, and threw myself at her feet. "Oh, 
Bianca," exclaimed I, "at length I can claim you for my own. 
I am no longer a nameless adventurer, a neglected, rejected 
outcast. Look— read, behold the tidings that restore me to my 
name and to myself ! " 

I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca rejoiced 
in the reverse of my situation, because she saw it lightened my 
heart of a load of care ; for her own part she had loved me for 
myself, and had never doubted that my own merits would 
comma^nd both fame and fortune. 

I now felt all my native pride buoyant within me; I no 
longer walked with my eyes bent to the dust ; hope elevated 
them to the skies; my soul was Mt up with fresh fires, and 
beamed from my countenance. 

I wished to impart the change in my circumstances to the 
Count ; to let him know who and what I was, and to make for- 
mal proposals for the hand of Bianca; but the Count was 
absent on a distant estate. I opened my vfhole soul to Filippo. 
Now first I told him of my passion ; of the doubts and fears 
that had distracted me, and of the tidings that had suddenly 
dispelled them. He overwhelmed me with congratulations and 
Y/ith the warmest expressions of sympathy. I embraced him 
in the fullness of my heart. I felt compunctious for having sus- 
pected him of coldness, and asked him forgiveness for having 
ever doubted his friendship. 

Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden expansion 
of the heart between young men. Filippo entered into our con- 
cerns with the most eager interest. He was our confidant and 
counsellor. It was determined that I should hasten at once to 
Naples to re-establish myself in my father's affections and my 
paternal home, and the moment the reconcihation was effected 
and my father's consent insured, I should return and demand 
Bianca of the Count. Filippo engaged to secure his father's 
acquiescence ; indeed, he undertook to watch over our interests, 
and was the channel through which we were to correspond. 

My parting with Bianca was tender — delicious — agonizing. 



t 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 61 

It was in a little pavilion of the garden which had been one of 
our favorite resorts. How often and often did I return to have 
one more adieu — to have her look once more on me in speech- 
less emotion — to enjoy once more the rapturous sight of those 
tears streaming down her lovely cheeks — to seize once more on 
that dehcate hand, the frankly accorded pledge of love, and 
cover it with tears and kisses ! Heavens ! There is a delight 
even in the parting agony of two lovers worth a thousand tame 
pleasures of the world. I have her at this moment before my 
eyes — at the Avindow of the pavilion, putting aside the vines 
that clustered about the casement — her Mght form beaming 
forth in virgin wliite — her countenance all tears and smiles — 
sending a thousand and a thousand adieus after me, as, hesita- 
ting, in a delirium of fondness and agitation, I faltered my way 
down the avenue. 

As the bark bore me out of the habor of Genoa, how eagerly 
my eyes stretched along the coast of Sestri, till it discerned the 
villa gleaming from among trees at the foot of the mountain. 
As long as day lasted, I gazed and gazed upon it, till it lessened 
and lessened to a mere white speck in the distance ; and still 
my intense and fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects 
of the coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or were lost 
in the evening gloom. 

On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal home. My 
heart yearned for the long-witheld blessing of a father's love. 
As I entered the proud portal of the ancestral palace, my emo- 
tions were so great that I could not speak. No one knew me. 
The servants gazed at me with curiosity and surprise. A few 
years of intellectual elevation and development had made a 
prodigious change in the poor fugitive strijDhng from the con- 
vent. .Still that no one should know me in my rightful home 
was overpowering. I felt like the prodigal son returned. I 
was a stranger in the house of my father. I burst into tears, 
and wept aloud. When I made myself known, however, all 
was changed. I who had once been almost repulsed from its 
walls, aild forced to fly as an exile, was welcomed back with 
acclamation, with servility. One of the servants hastened to 
prepare my father for my reception ; my eagerness to receive 
the paternal embrace was so great that I could not await his 
return ; but hurried after him. 

What a spectacle met my eyes as I entered the chamber ! My 
father, whom I had left in the pride of vigorous age, whose 
noble and majestic bearing had so awed my young unagina- 



62 TALES OF A TRAVELLFAt 

tion, was bowed down and withered into decrepitude. A 
paralysis had ravaged his stately form, and left it a shaking 
ruin. He sat propped up in his chair, with pale, relaxed visage 
and glassy, wandering eye. His intellects had evidently shared 
in the ravage of his frame. The servant was endeavoring to 
make him comprehend the visitor that was at hand. I tottered 
up to him and sunk at his feet. All his past coldness and neg- 
lect were forgotten in his present sufferings. I remembered 
only that he was my parent, and that I had deserted him. I 
clasped his knees ; my voice was almost stifled with convulsive 
sobs. " Pardon — pardon— oh my father!" was all that I could 
utter. His apprehension seemed slowly to return to him. He 
gazed at. me for some moments with a vague, inquiring look; a 
convulsive tremor quivered about his lips ; he feebly extended 
a shaking hand, laid it upon my head, and burst into an infan- 
tine flow of tears. 

From that moment he would scarcely spare me from his 
sight. I appeared the only object that his heart responded to 
in the world ; all else was as a blank to him. He had almost 
lost the powers of speech, and the reasoning faculty seemed at 
an end. He was mute and passive; excepting that fits of 
child-like weeping would sometimes come over him without 
any immediate cause. If I left the room at any time, his eye 
was incessantly fixed on the door till my return, and on my 
entrance there was another gush of tears. 

To talk with him of my concerns, in this ruined state of mind, 
would have been worse than useless ; to have left him, for ever 
so short a time, would have been cruel, unnatural. Here then 
was a new trial for my affections. I wrote to Bianca an ac- 
count of my return and of my actual situation; painting in 
colors vivid, for they were true, the torments I suffered at. our 
being thus separated ; for to the youthful lover every day of 
absence is an age of love lost. I enclosed the letter in one to 
Filippo, who was the channel of our correspondence. I received 
a reply from him full of friendship and sympathy ; from Bianca 
full of assurances of affection and constancy. 

Week after week, month after month elapsed, without 
making any change in my circumstances. The vital flame, 
which had seemed nearly extinct when flrst I met my father, 
kept fluttering on without any apparent diminution. I watched 
him constantly, faithfully — I had almost said patiently. I 
knew that his death alone would set me free ; yet I never at 
any moment wished it. I felt too glad to be able to make any 



THE STORY OF THE YOUJ^O ITALIAN: 63 

atonement for past disobedience ; and, denied as I had been all 
endearments of relationship in my early days, my heart yearned 
towards a father, who, in his age and helplessness, had thrown 
Jiunself entirely on me for comfort. My possion for Bianca 
gained daily more force from absence ; by constant meditation 
it wore itself a deeper and deeper channel. I made no new 
friends nor acquaintances; sought none of the pleasures of 
Naples which my rank aiid fortune threw open to me. Mine 
was a heart that confined itself to few objects, but dwelt upon 
those with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, and ad- 
minister to his wants, and to meditate on Bianca in the silence 
of his chamber, was my constant habit. Sometimes I amused 
myself with my pencil in portraying the image that was ever 
present to my unagination. I transferred to canvas every look 
and smile of hers that dwelt in my heart. I showed them to 
my father in hopes of awakening an. interest in his bosom for 
the mere shadow of my love ; but he was too far sunk in intel- 
lect to take any more than a child-hke notice of them. 

When I received a letter from Bianca it was a new source of 
sohtary luxury. Her letters, it is true, were less and less fre- 
quent, but they were always full of assurances of unabated 
affection. They breathed not the frank and innocent warmth 
with which she expressed herself in conversation, but I ac- 
counted for it from the embarrassment which inexperienced 
minds have often to express themselves upon paper. Filippo 
assured me of her unaltered canstancy. They both lamented 
in the strongest terms our continued separation, though they 
did justice to the filial feeling that kept me by my father's 
side. 

Nearly eighteen months elapsed in this protracted exile. To 
me they were so many ages. Ardent and impetuous by 
nature, I scarcely know how I should have supported so long an 
absence, had I not felt assured that the faith of Bianca was 
equal to my own. At length my father died. Life went from 
him almost imperceptibly. I hung over him in mute afiliction, 
and watched the expiring spasms of nature. His last faltering 
accents whispered repeatedly a blessing on me— alas I how has 
it been fulfilled ! 

When I had paid due honors to his remains, and laid them 
in the tomb of our ancestors, I arranged briefly my affairs ; put 
them in a posture to be easily at my command from a distance, 
and embarked once more, with a bounding heart, for Genoa. 

Our voyage was propitious, and oh ! what was my rapture 



64 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 

when first, in the dawn of morning, I saw the shadowy sum- 
mits of the .Apennines rising almost hke clouds above the 
horizon. The sweet breath of summer just moved us over the 
long wavering billows that were roUing us on towards Genoa. 
By degrees the coast of Sestri rose likq a sweet creation of 
enchantment from the silver bosom of the deep. I beheld the 
line of villages and palaces studding its borders. My. eye 
reverted to a well-known point, and at length, from the con- 
fusion of distant objects, it singled out the villa which con- 
tained Bianca. It was a mere speck in the landscape, but 
glimmering from afar, the polar star of my heart. 

Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day ; but oh how 
different the emotions between departure and return. It now 
kept growing and growing, instead of lessening on my sight. 
My heart seemed to dilate with it. I looked at it through a 
telescope. I gradually defined one feature after another. The 
balconies of the central saloon where first I met Bianca beneath 
its roof; the terrace where we so often had passed the delight- 
ful summer evenings; the awning that shaded her chamber 
window — I almost fancied I saw her form beneath it. Could 
she but know her lover was in the bark whose white sail now 
gleamed on the sunny bosom of the sea ! My fond impatience 
increased as we neared the coast. The ship seemed to lag 
lazily over the billows ; I could almost have sprung into the 
sea and swam to the desii^ed shore. 

The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene, but 
the moon arose in all her fuUness and beauty, and shed the 
tender light so dear to lovers, over the romantic coast of Sestri. 
My whole soul was bathed in unutterable tenderness. I an- 
ticipated the heavenly evenings I should pass in wandering 
with Bianca by the light of that blessed moon. 

It was late at night before we entered the harbor. As early 
next morning as I could get released from the formalities of 
landing I threw myself on horseback and hastened to the villa. 
As I galloped round the rocky promontory on which stands 
the Faro, and saw the coast of Sestri opening upon me, a thou- 
sand anxieties and doubts suddenly sprang up in my bosom. 
There is something fearful in returning to those we love, while 
yet uncertain what ills or changes absence may have effected. 
The turbulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I 
spurred my horse to redoubled speed; he was covered with 
foam when we both arrived panting at the gateway that 
opened to the grounds around the villa. I left my horse at a 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 65 

cottage and walked through the groundG, that I might regain 
tranquilhty for the approaching interview. I chid myself for 
having suilered mere doubts and surmises thus suddenly to 
overcome me ; but I was always prone to be carried away by 
these gusts of the feelings. 

On entering the garden everything bore the same look as 
when I had left it ; and this unchanged aspect of things reas- 
sured me. There were the alleys in which I had so often 
walked with Bianca ; the same shades under which we had so 
often sat during the noontide. There were the same flowers of 
which she was fond ; and wliich appeared still to be under the 
ministry of her hand. Everything around looked and breathed 
of Bianca; hope aud joy flushed in my bosom at every step. 
I passed a little bower in which we had often sat and read 
together. A book and a glove lay on the bench. It was 
Bianca's glove ; it was a volume of the Metestasio I had given 
her. The glove lay in my favorite passage. I clasped them to 
my heart. ''All is safe!" exclaimed I, with rapture, "she 
loves me ! she is still my own !" 

I bounded lightly along the avenue down which I had fal- 
tered so slowly at my departure. I beheld her favorite pavilion 
which had witnessed our parting scene. The window was 
open, with the same vine clambering about it, precisely as 
when she waved and wept me an adieu. Oh I how transporting 
was the contrast in my situation. As I passed near the i>avil- 
ion, I heard the tones of a female voice. They thrilled through 
roe with an appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before I 
could think, I felt they were Bianca's. For an instant I 
paused, overpowered with agitation. I feared to break in sud- 
denly upon her. I softly ascended the steps of the pavilion. 
The door was open. I saw Bianca seated at a table ; her back 
was towards me ; she was warbling a soft melancholy air, and 
was occupied in drawing. A glance sufficed to show me tha^. 
she was copying one<^f my own paintings. I gazed on her for 
a moment in a delicious tumult of emotions. She paused in 
her smging; a heavy sigh, almost a sob followed. I could no 
longer contain myself. "Bianca!" exclaimed I, in a half 
smothered voice. See started at the sound ; brushed back the 
ringlets that hung clustering about her face ; darted a glance at 
me; uttered a piercing shriek, and would have fallen to the 
earth, had I not caught her in my arms. 

"Bianca! my own Bianca!" exclaimed I, folding her to my 
bosom; my voice stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. She lay in 



QQ TALE8 OF A TIIAVELLEB. 

my arms without sense or motion. Alarmed at the efiects of 
my own precipitation, I scarce knew what to do. I tried by a 
thousand endearing words to call her back to consciousness. 
She slowly recovered, and half opening her eyes— "where am 
I?" murmured she faintly. " Here," exclaimed I, pressing her 
to my bosom. ' ' Here ! close to the heart that adores you ; in 
the arms of your faithful Ottavio !" 

" Oh no ! no ! no !" shrieked she, starting into sudden hfe and 
terror— " away ! away ! leave me ! leave me !" 

She tore herself from my arms ; rushed to a corner of the 
saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if the very 
sight of me were baleful. I was thunderstruck — I could not 
believe my senses. I followed her, trembling, confounded. I 
endeavored to take her hand, but she shrunk from my very 
touch with horror. 

'' Good heavens, Bianca," exclaimed I, "what is the meaning 
of this? Is this my reception after so long an absence? Is this 
the love you professed for me?" 

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. She 
turned to me a face wild with a,nguish. "No more of that! 
no more of that !" gasped she—" talk not to me of love— I— I — 
am married !" 

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow. A sickness 
struck to my very heart. I caught at a window frame for 
support. For a moment or two, everything was chaos around 
me. When I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa ; her 
face buried in a x^illow, and sobbing convulsively. Indignation 
at her fickleness for a moment overpowered every other feeling. 

"Faithless— perjured— " cried I, striding across the room. 
But another glance at that beautiful being in distress, checked 
all my wrath. Anger could not dwell together with her idea 
in my soul. 

" Oh, Bianca," exclaimed I, in anguish, " could I have dreamt 
of this ; could I have suspected you would have been false to 



me 



9" 



She raised her face all streaming with tears, all disordered 
with emotion, and gave me one appealing look — "False to you ! 
— they told me you were dead !" 

" ¥7hat," said I, "in spite of our constant correspondence?" 

She gazed wildly at me — "correspondence! — what corres- 
pondence?" 

"liave you not repeatedly received and replied to my 
lotters?" 



TEE STORY OF THE YOUNQ ITALIAN, 67 

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervor—* 'As I 
hope for mercy, never !" 

A horrible sm^mise shot through my brain—" Who told you 
I Y/as dead 2" 

"It was reported that the ship in which you embarked for 
Naples perished at sea." 

"But who told you the report?" 

She paused for an instant, and trembled — 

"Fiiippo!" 

" May the God of heaven curse him!" cried I, extending my 
clinched fists aloft. 

" Oh do not curse him — do not curse him!" exclaimed she™ 
"He is— he is — my husband !" 

This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that had 
been practised upon me. My blood boiled like liquid fire in 
m.y veins. I gasped with rage too great for utterance. I 
remained for a time bewildered by the whirl of horrible 
thoughts that rushed through my mind. The poor victim 
of deception before me thought it was with her I was incensed. 
She faintly murmured forth her exculpation. I wiU not dwell 
upon it. I saw in it more than she meant to reveal. I so.w 
with a glance how both of us had been betrayed. " 'Tis well !" 
muttered I to m_yseK in smothered accents of concentrated 
fury. ' ' He shall account to me for this !" 

Bianca overhead me. New terror flashed in her counte- 
nance. "For mercy's sake do not meet him — say nothing of 
what has passed— for my sake s^y nothing to him— I only shall 
be the sufferer !" 

A new suspicion darted across my mind—" What !" exclaimed 
I — "do you then fear him— is he unJcind to you — tell me," 
reiterated I, grasping her hand and looking her eagerly in the 
face—" tell me - dares he to use you harshly !" 

"No! no! no!" cried she faltering and embarrassed ; but the 
glance at her face had told me volumes. I saw in her pallid 
and wasted features ; in the prompt terror and subdued agony 
of her eye a whole history of a mind broken down by tyranny. 
Great God ! and was this beauteous flower snatched from me 
to be thus trampled upon? The idea roused me to madness. 
I chnched my teeth and my hands ; I foamed at the moutli ; 
every passion seemed to have resolved itself into the fury that 
like a lava boiled within my heart. Bianca shrunk from me 
in speechless affright. As I strode by the window my ejc 
darted down the aUey. Fatal moment! I beheld Fihppo at a 



68 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

distance! My brain was in a delirium— I sprang from the 
pavilion, ancl was before him with the quickness of lightning. 
He saw me as I came rushing upon him — he turned pale, 
looked wildly to riglit and left, as if he would have fled, and 
trembling drew his sword. 

''Wretch !" cried I, " well may you draw your weapon !" 

I spake not another word — I snatched forth a stiletto, put "m 
the SAvord which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard 
in his bosom. He fell with the blovf, but my rage was unsated, 
1 sprang upon him with the biood-thirsty feeling of a tigei' ; 
redoubled my blov/s ; mangled liim in my frenzy, grasped him 
by the throat, until with reiterated wounds and sti'anghng 
convulsions he expired in my grasp. I remained glaring on 
the countenance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back 
with its protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me 
from my delirium. I looked round and beheld Bianca flying 
distractedly towards us. My brain whirled. I waited, not to 
meet her, but fled from the scene of horror. I fled forth fromt 
the garden like another Cain, a hell within my bosom, and a 
curse upon my head. I fled without knowing whither — almost 
without knoY/ing why — my only idea w^as to get farther and 
farther from the horrors I had left behind ; as if I could throw 
space between myself and my conscience. I fled to the x^pen- 
nines, and wandered for days and days among their savage 
heights. Howl existed I cannot tell— what rocks and preci- 
pices I braved, and how I braved them, I know not. I kept 
on and on — trying to outtraTel the curse that clung to me. 
Alas, the shrieks of Bianca rung for ever in my ear. The hor- 
rible countenance of my victim vv^as for ever before my eyes. 
**The blood of Filippo cried to me from the ground." Eocks, 
trees, and torrents all resounded with my crime. 

Then it was I felt how much more insupportable is the 
anguish of remorse than every other mental pang. Oh ! could 
I but have cast off this crime that festered in my hear fc ; could 
I but have regained the innocence that reigned in my breast as 
I entered the garden at Sestri ; could I but have restored my 
victim to life, I felt as if I could look on v/ith transport even 
though Bianca were in his arms. 

By degrees this frenzied fever of remorse settled into a 
permanent malady of the mind. Into one of the most horrible 
that ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wherever I v/ent, the 
countenance of him I had slain appeared to follow me. Wher- 
ever I turned my head I beheld it beliind me, hideous with the 



THE STORY OF TITS YOUNG ITALIAN. 69 

Contortions of the dying moment. I have tried in every way 
to escape from this horrible phantom; but in vain. I know 
not whether it is an illusion of the mind, the confeequence of 
my dismal education at the convent, or v/hether a phantom 
really sent by heaven to punish me ; but there it ever is— at all 
times — in all places— nor has time nor habit had any effect in 
famiharizing me v>dth its terrors. I have travelled from place 
to place, plunged into amusements— tried dissipation and din- 
traction of every kind — all — all in vain. 

I once had recourse to my pencil a.s a desperate experiment. 
I painted an exact resemblance of this phantom face. I placed 
it before me in hopes that by constantly contemplating the 
copy I might diminish the effect of the original. But I only 
doubled instead of diminishing the misery. 

Such is the curse that has clung to m-j footsteps— that has 
made my life a burthen — ^but the thoughts of death, terrible. 
God knows what I have suffered. Y/hat days and days, and 
nights and nights, of sleepless torment. What a never-dying 
worm has preyed upon my jieart ; what an unquenchable fire 
ha,3 burned within my brain. He knows the wrongs that 
wrought upon my poor weak nature ; that converted the" ten- 
derest of aifections into the deadliest of fury. He knov/s best 
whether a frail erring creature has expiated by long-enduring 
torture and measureless remorse, the crime of a moment of 
madness. Often, often have I prostrated myself in the dust, 
and implored that he would give me a sign of his forgiveness, 
and let me die. 

Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant to 
leave this record of misery and crime with you, to be read 
when I should be no more. My prayer to heaven has at length 
been heard. You v/ere witness to ro-j emotions last evening at 
the performance of the Miserere; when the vaulted temple 
resounded with the words of atonement and redemption. I 
heard a voice speaking* to me from the midst of the music ; I 
heard it rising above the pealing of the organ and the voices of 
the choir ; it spoke to me in tones of celestial melody ; it prom- 
ised mercy and forgiveness, but demanded from me full expia- 
tion. I go to make it. To-morrow I shall be on my way to 
Genoa to surrender myself to justice. You who have pitied 
my sufferings ; who have poured the balm of sympathy into my 
wounds, do not shrink from my memory with abhorrence now 
that you know my story. EecoUect, when you i^ead of my 
crime I shall have atoned for it with my blood ! 



70 TALES OF A TBAVELLEB. 

When the Baronet had finished, there was an universal 
desire expressed to see the painting of this frightful visage. 
After much entreaty the Baronet consented, on condition that 
they should only visit it one by one. He called his house- 
keeper and gave her charge to conduct the gentlemen singly to 
the chamber. They aU returned varying in their stories : some 
affected in one way, some in another ; some more, some less ; 
but ail agreeing that there was a certain something about the 
painting that had a very odd effect upon the feelings. 

I stood in a deep bow window with the Baronet, and could 
not help expressing my wonder. "After all," said I, "there 
are certain mysteries in our nature, certain inscrutable impulses 
and influences, that warrant one in being superstitious. Who 
can account for so many persons of different characters being 
thus strangely affected by a mere painting?" 

"And especially when not one of them has seen it!" said the 
Baronet with a smile. 

"How?" exclaimed I, "not seen it?" 

"Not one of them?" rephed he, laying his finger on his lips 
in sign of secrecy. "I saw that some of them were in a ban- 
tering vein, and I did not choose that the memento of the poor 
Itahan should be made a jest of. So I gave the housekeeper a 
hint to show them all to a different chamber !" 



Thus end the Stories of the Nervous Gentleman. 



TALES OF A TRAYELLER. 



PART SEGONV. 



BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 



' 'Tis a very good world that we live in, 
To lend, or to spend, or to give in; 
But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 
'Tis the very worst world, sii-, that ever was known." 

Lines from an Inn Window. 



LITERARY LIFE. 

Among the great variety of characters which faU in a travel- 
ler's way, I became acquainted during my sojourn in London, 
with an eccentric personage of the name of Buckthorne. He 
was a hterary man, had hved much in the metropolis, and had 
acquired a great deal of curious, though unprofitable knowl- 
edge concerning it. He was a great observer of character, and 
could give the natm-al history of every odd animal that pre- 
sented itseh: in this great wilderness of men. Finding me very 
curious about literary life and literary characters, he took 
much pains to gratify my curiosity. 

"The hterary world of England," said he to me one day, "is 
made up of a number of httle fraternities, each existing merely 
for itself, and thinking the rest of the world created only to 
look on and admire. It may be resembled to the firmament, 
consisting of a number of systems, each composed of its own 
central sun with its revolving train of moons and satellites, all 
acting in the most harmonious concord; but the comparison 
fails in part, inasmuch as the literary world has no general 
concord. Each system acts independently of the rest, and 
indeed considers all other stars as mere exhalations and tran- 
sient meteors, beaming for awhile with false fires, but doomed 
soon to fall and be forgotten ; while its own luminaries are the 



72 TALES OF A TKAVELLEB. 

lights of the universe, destined to increase in splendor and to 
sMno steadily on to immortality." 

"And pray," said I, "how is a man to get a peep into one of 
these systems you talk of? I presume an intercourse with 
authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, where one must 
bring his commodities to barter, and always give a quid pro 

"Pooh, pooh — how you mistake," said Buckthorne, smiling: 
"you must never think to become popular among wits by 
shining. They go into society to shine themselves, not to 
admire the brilliancy of others. I thought as you do wiien I 
first cultivated the society of men of letters, and never went to 
a blue-3tocking coterie without studying my part beforehand 
as dihgentiy as an actor. The consequence was, I soon got the 
name of an intolerable proser, and should in a little while have 
been completely excommunicated had I not changed my plan 
of operations. From thenceforth I became a most assiduous 
listener, or if ever I were eloquent, it was tete-a-tete v/ith an 
author in praise of his own works, or vs^hat is nearly as accept- 
able, in disparagement of the works of his contemporaries. If 
ever he spoke favorably of the productions of some particular 
friend, I ventured boldly to dissent from him, and to prove that 
his friend was a blockhead ; and much as people say of the 
pertinacity and irritability of authors, I never found one to 
take offence at my contra^dictions. No, no, sir, authors are 
particularly candid in admitting the faults of their friends. 

"Indeed, I was extremely sparing of my remarks on all 
modern works, excepting to make sarcastic observations on the 
most distinguished writers of the day. I never ventured to 
praise an author that had not been dead at least half a century ; 
and even then I was rather cautious ; for you must know that 
many old writers have been enlisted under the banners of dif- 
ferent sects, and their merits have become as complete topics 
of party prejudice and dispute, as the merits of living states- 
men and politicians. Nay, there have been vdiole periods of 
literature absolutely tabooed, to use a South Sea phrase. It is, 
for example, as much as a man's reputation is worth, in some 
circles, to say a word in praise of any writers of the reign of 
Charles the Second, or even of Queen Anne; they being aU 
declared to be Frenchmen in disguise." 

" And pray, then," said I, "when am I to know that I am on 
safe grounds; being totally unacquainted vvuth the literary 
landmarks and the boundary hnes of fashionable taste ?" 



A LITERARY DUSNEn. 73 

" Oh," replid he, there is fortunately one tract of literature 
that forms a kind of neutral ground, on wliich all the hterary 
world meet amicably ; lay down their weapons and even run 
riot in then- excess of good humor, and this is, the reigns of 
Elizabeth and James. Here you may praise away at a venture ; 
here it is 'cut and come again,' and the more obscure the 
author, and the more quaint and crabbed his style, the more 
your admiration v/ili smack of the real rehsh of the connoisseur ; 
whose taste, hke that of an epicure, is always for game that has 
an antiquated tlavor. 

" But," continued he, " as you seem anxious to know some- 
thing of Mterary society I will take an opportunity to introduce 
you to some coterie, where the talents of the day are assembled. 
I cannot promise you, however, that they will be of the first 
order. Somehow or other, our great geniuses are not gregari- 
ous, they do not go in flocks, but fly singly in general society, 
They prefer minghng, hke common men, with the multitude ; 
and are apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the 
reputation. It is only the inferior orders that herd together, 
acquire strength and importance by then* confederacies, and 
bear all the distinctive characteristics of their species." 



A LITERARY DINNER. 

A FEW days after this conversation with Mr. Buckthorne, he 
cahed upon me, and took me with him to a reg-ular hterary 
dinner. It was given by a great bookseher, or rather a company 
of booksellers, whose firm surpassed in length even that of 
Shadrach, ileschach, and Abed-nego. 

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests 
assembled, most of whom I had never seen before. Buckthorne 
explained this to me by informing me that this was a " busi- 
ness dinner," or kind of field day, which the house gave about 
twice a year to its authors. It is true, they did occasionally 
give snug dinners to three or four literary men at a time, but 
then these were generally select authors ; favorites of the pub- 
lic; such as had arrived at their sixth and seventh editions. 
"There are," said he, " certain geographical boundaries in the 
land of literature, and you m-ay judge tolerably weU of an 
author's popularity, by the v\ane his bookceller gives him. An 
author crosses the port line about the thii-d edition and gets 



74 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

into claret, but when he has reached the sixth and seventh, he 
may revel in champagne and burgundy." 

"And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen have 
reached that I see around me ; are any of these claret drinkers ?" 

"Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great dimiers 
the common steady run of authors, one, two, edition men; 
or if any others are invited they are aware that it is a kind of 
republican meeting. — You understand me — a meeting of the 
republic of letters, and that they must expect nothing but plain 
substantial fare." 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the arrange- 
ment of the table. The two ends were occupied by two partners 
of the house. And the host seemed to have adopted Addison's 
ideas as to the literary precedence of his g-uests. A popular 
poet had the post of honor, opposite to whom was a hot-pressed 
traveller in quarto, with plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, 
who had produced several solid works, which were much quoted 
and little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next 
to a neat, dressy gentleman in black, who had written a thin, 
genteel, hot-pressed octavo on politica,l economy that was getting 
into fashion. Several three-volume duodecimo men of fair 
currency were placed about the centre of the table ; while the 
lower end was taken up with small poets, translators, and 
authors, who had not as yet risen into much notice. 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts ; break- 
ing out here and there in various parts of the table in small 
flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had the confidence 
of a man on good terms with the world and independent of his 
bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, and said many clever 
things, which set the partner next him in a roar, and dehghted 
all the company. The other partner, however, maintained his 
sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough 
man of business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. 
His gravity was explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He 
informed me that the concerns of the house were admirably 
distributed among the partners. "Thus," for instance," said 
he, " the grave gentleman is the carving partner who attends 
to the joints, and the other is the laughing partner who attends 
to the jokes." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the upper 
end of the table ; as the authors there seemed to possess the 
greatest courage of the tongue. As to the crew at the lower 
end, if they did not make much figure in talking, they did 



A LITEUAUY DINNER. 75 

in eatiiig. Never was there a more determined, inveterate, 
tiiorouglily-sustained attack on tlie trencher, than by this 
phalair-v of masticators. When the cloth was removed, and 
the wine began to circulate, they grew very merry and jocose 
among themselves. Their jokes, however, if by chance any 01 
them reached the upper end of the table, seldom produced 
much effect. Even the laughing partner did not seem to think 
it necessary to honor them with a smile ; which my neighbor 
Buckthorne accounted for, by informing me that there v/as a 
certain degree of popularity to be obtained, before a bookseller 
could afford to laugh at an author's jokes. 

Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated below 
the salt, my eye singled out one in particular. He was rather 
shabbily dressed ; though he had evidently made the most of a 
rusty black coat, and wore his shirt-frill plaited and puffed out 
voluminously a;t the bosom. His face was dusky, but florid — 
perhaps a little too florid, particularly about the nose, though 
the rosy hue gave the greater lustre to a twinkling black eye. 
He had a httle the look of a boon companion, with that dash of 
the poor devil in it which gives an inexpressibly mellow tone 
to a man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer promise ; 
but never was promise so ill kept. He said nothing ; ate and 
drank Vt^ith the keen appetite of a gazetteer, and scarcely stop- 
ped to laugh even at the good jokes from the upper end of the 
table. I inquired v/ho he was. Buckthorne looked at him 
attentively. ''Gad," said he, "I have seen that face before, 
but where I cannot recollect. He cannot be an author of any 
note. I suppose some writer of sermons or grinder of foreign 
travels." 

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and 
coffee, w^here we were re-enforced by a cloud of inferior guests. 
Authors of small volumes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in 
blue paper. These had not as yet arrived to the importance of 
a dinner invitation, but were invited occasionally to pass the 
evening "in a friendly way." They were very respectful to 
the partners, and indeed seemed to stand a little in awe of 
them; but they paid very devoted court to the lady of the 
house, and were extravagantly fond of the children. I looked 
round for the poor devil author in the rusty black coat and 
magnificent frill, but he had disappeared immediately after 
leaving the table; having a. dread, no doubt, of the glaring 
light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing farther to interest 
my attention, I took my departure as soon as coffee had been 



76 TALES OF A TIU YELLEB. 

served, leaving the port and tlie tliin, genteel, hot-pressed, 
octavo gentlemen, masters of the field. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 

I THINK it was but the very next evening that in coming out 
1 Oovent Garden Theatre with my eccentric friend Buck- 
t.liorne, he proposed to give me another peep at life and charac- 
ter. Finding mo willing for any research of the kind, he took 
me through a variety of the narrow courts and lanes about 
Covent Garden, until we stopped before a tavern from which 
we heard the bursts 'of merriment of a jovial party. There 
would be a loud peal of IsAighter, then an interval, then 
another peal; as if a prime wag v/ere telling a story. After 
a little while there was a song, and a,t the close of each stanza 
a hearty roar and a vehement thumping on the table. 

' ' This is the place, " whispered Buckthorne. " It is the ' Club 
of Queer Fellows.' A great resort of the small wits, third-rate 
actors, and nev/spaper critics of the theatres. Any one can go 
in on paying a shilling at the bar for the use of the club." 

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our seats 
at a lone table in a dusky corner of the room. The club was 
assembled round a table, on wliich stood beverages of various 
kinds, according to the taste of the individual. The members 
v/ere a set of queer fellows indeed ; but what was my surprise 
on recognizing in the prime wit of the meeting, the poor devil 
author whom I had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his 
promising iace and his complete taciturnity. Matters, how- 
ever, were entirely changed with him. There he was a mere 
cypher: here he was lord of the ascendant; the choice spirit, 
the dominant genius. He sat at the head of the table with his 
bat on, and an eye beaming even more luminously than his 
nose. He had a quiz and a fillip for every one, and a good 
thing on every occasion. Nothing could be said or done with- 
out eliciting a spark from him; and I solemnly declare I have 
heard much worse wit even from noblemen. His jokes, it 
must be confessed, were rather wet, but they suited the circle 
in which he presided. The company were in that maudhn 
mood when a little wit goes a great way. Every time he 
opened his lips there was sure to be a roar, and sometimes 
before he had time to speak. 



1 



THE CLUB OF qOKER FELLOWS. 77 

"We v/ere fortunate enougli to enter in time for a glee com- 
posed by him expressly for the club, and wMch he sang with 
two boon comjDanions, who would have been worthy subjects 
for Hogarth's pencil. As they were each provided with a 
written copy, I was enabled to procure the residing of it. 

Merrily, merrily push round tlie glass, 

And merrily troll the glee, 
For he who won't drink till he wink is an ass, 

So neighbor I drink to thee. 
Merrily, merrily puddle thy nose, 

Until it right rosy shall be; 
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 

Is a sign of good company. 

We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the wit 
remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched under it, 
and wide apart ; his hands in his breeches pockets ; his head 
drooped upon his breast ; and gazhig with lack-lustre counte- 
nance on an empty tankard. His gayety was gone, his fire 
completely quenched. 

My companion approached and startled him from his fit of 
brown study, introducing himself on the strengi^h of their hav- 
ing dined together at the booksellers'. 

"By the way," said he, "it seems to me I have seen you 
before; your face is surely the face of an old acquaintance, 
though for the life of me I cannot tell where I have known 
you." 

"Very likely," said he with a smile; "many of my old 
friends have forgotten me. Though, to tell the truth, my 
memory in this instance is as bad as your o^vn. If, however, 
it \vill assist you^- recollection in any way, my name is Thomas 
Dribble, at your service." 

"What, Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's school in 
Warwickshire ?" 

"The same," said the other, coolly. "Why, then we are old 
schoolmates, though it's no wonder you don't recollect me. I 
was your junior by several years; don't you recollect little 
Jack Buckthorne?" 

Here then ensued a scene of school-fellow recognition ; and a 
world of talk about old school times and school pranks. Mr. 
Dribble ended by observing, with a heavy sigh, "th?vt times 
wore sadly chang'ed since those days." 

"Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, "you seem quite a different 
man here from what you were at dimier. I had no idea that 



78 TALES OF A TEA VELLER. 

you had so mucli stuff in you. There you vv^ere all silence ; hut 
here you cihsolutely keep the tahle in a roar." 

"Ah, my dear sir," rephed he, v/itha shake of the head and 
a slnaig of the shoulder, "I'm a mere glow-worm. I never 
shine by daylight. Besides, it's a hard thing for a poor devil 
of an author to shine at the table of a rich bookseller. Who do 
you think would laugh at any thing I could say, when I had 
some of the current wits of the day about me? But here, 
though a poor devil, I am £imong still poorer devils than my- 
self ; men who look u^) to me as a man of letters and a bel esprit, 
and all my Jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint." 

"You surely do j^ourself injustice, sir," said I; "I have cer- 
tainly heard more good tilings from you this evening than from 
any of those beaux esprits by whom you appear to have been 
so daunted." 

"Ah, sir! but they have luck on their side; they are m the 
fasliion — there's nothing like being in fasliion. A man that 
has once got his character up for a wit, is always sure of a 
laugh, say wliat he may. He may utter as much nonsense as 
he pleases, and all will pass current. No one stops to question 
the coin of a rich man ; but a poor devil caimot pass off either a 
joke or a guinea, witliout its being examined on both sides. 
Wit and coin are always doubted with a threadbare coat. 

"For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a Httle 
more on one side, "for my part, I hate your fine dinners; 
there's nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chop-house. I'd 
rather, any tune, have my steak and tankard among my own 
set, than drink claret and eat venison with your cursed civil, 
elegant compan3^, who never laugh at a good joke from a poor 
devil, for fear of its being vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet 
soil ; it flourishes in low places, but withers on your d— d high, 
dry grounds. I once kept high company, sir, until I neaiiy 
ruined myself; I grew so dull, and vapid, and genteel. Noth- 
ing saved me but being arrested by my landlady and thrown 
into prison ; where a course of catch-chibs, eight-penny ale, and 
poor-dcvii company, manured my irdnd and brought it back to 
itself again." 

As it was now growing late we parted for the evening; 
though I felt anxious to know more of this practical philoso- 
pher. I was glad, therefore, when Buckthorne proposed to 
have another meeting to talk over old school times, and inquired 
his school-mate's address. The latter seemed at first a little 
shy of naming his lodgings ; but suddenly assuming an air of 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 79 

hardihood— "Green Arbour court, sii', " exclaimed he — "num- 
ber—in Green Arbour court. You must know the place. 
Classic ground, sir ! classic ground ! It was there Goldsmith 
vfrote his Vicar of Wakefield. I always Mke to live in hterarj 
haunts." 

I was amused with tiiis whimsical apology for shabby quar- 
ters. On our way homewards Buckthorne assured me that 
this Dribble had been the prime wit and great wag of the school 
in their boyish days, and one of those unlucky urchins denomi- 
nated bright geniuses. As he perceived me curious respecting 
his old school-mate, he promised to take me with him in his 
proposed visit to Green Arbour court. 

A few mornings afterwards he called upon me, and we set 
forth on our expedition. He led me through a variety of 
singular alleys, and courts, and blind passages ; for he appeared 
to be lorofoundly versed in all the intricate geography of the 
metropolis. At length we came out upon Fleet JMarket, and 
traversing it, turned up a narrow street to the bottom of a long 
steep flight of stone steps, named Break-neck Stairs. These, 
he told me, led up to Green Arbour court, and that down them 
poor Goldsmith might many a time have risked his neck. 
When we entered the court, I could not but smile to think in 
what out-of-the-way corners genius produces her bantlings! 
And the muses, those capricious dames, who, forsooth, so often 
refuse to visit palaces, and deny a single smile to votaries in 
splendid studies and gilded drawing-rooms, — what holes and 
burrov\^s will they frequent to lavish their favors on some ragged 
disciple ! 

This Green Arbour court I found to be a small square of taU 
and miserable houses, the very intestines of which seemed 
turned inside out, to judge from the old garments and frippery 
that fluttered from every window. It appeared to be a region 
of washerwomen, and lines were stretched about the little 
square, on which clothes were danghng to dry. Just as we 
entered the square, a scuffle took place between two viragos 
about a disi^uted right to a washtub, and immediately the 
whole community was in a hubbub. Heads in mob caps popped 
out of every window, and such a clamor of tongues ensued 
that I was fain to stop my ears. Every Amazon took part with 
one or other of the disputants, and brandished her arms drip- 
ping with soapsuds, and fired away from her window as from 
the embrazure of a fortress; while the swarms of children 
nestled and cradled in ever:' procreant chamber of this hive, 



^0 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

waking with the noise, set up their shrill pipes to sweU the 
general concert. 

Poor Goldsmith! what a time must he have had of it with 
Ins quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up in this den 
of noise and vulgarity. How strange that while every si^lit 
and sound was sufficient to embitter the heart and fill it with 
misanthropy, his pen should be dropping the honey of Hybli 
Yet It IS more than probable that he drew many of liis ininiito- 
ble pictures of low life from the scenes which surrounded him 
m this abode. The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs being obliged 
to wash her husband's two shirts in a neighbor's house v^ho 
refused to lend her washtub, may have been no sport of fkncy 
but a fact passing under his own eye. His landlandy may 
ha.ve sat for the picture, and Beau Tibbs' scanty wardrobe have 
been a fac-simile of his own. 

It was with some difficulty that we found our way to Drib- 
ble's lodgings. They were up two pair of stairs, in a room that 
looked upon the court, and when we entered he was seated on 
the edge of his bed, writing at a broken table. He received us 
however, with a free, open, poor devH air, that was irresistible! 
It is true he aid at first appear slightly confused; buttoned up 
his waistcoat a httle higher and tucked in a stray frill of linen. 
Birt he recol ected himself in an instant; gave a half swagger, 
half leer, as he stepped forth to receive us; drew a three-legged 
stool for Mr. Buckthorne; pointed me to a lumbering old 
damask chair that looked hke a dethroned monarch in exile 
and bade us welcome to his garret. ' 

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne and he 
had much to say about early school scenes; and as nothing 
opens a man's heart more than recoUections of the kind we 
soon drew from him a brief outHne of his literary career ' 



THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 

I BEOAN Hfe unluckily by being the wag and bright fellow at 
school; and I had the farther misfortune of becoming the Rimt 
gemus of my native village. My father was a country ^tor- 
ney, and intended that I should succeed him in business •but 
i Had too much genius to study, and he was too fond of my 



THE POOn BTCriL AUTHOR. 81 

genius to force it into the traces. So I fell into .bad company 
and took to bad habits. Do not mistake me. I mean that I 
fell into the company of village literati and village blues, and 
took to writing village poetry. 

It Avas quite the fashion in the village to be literary. We 
had a little ioiot of choice spirits who assembled frequently 
together, formed ourselves into a Literary, Scientific, and 
Philosopliical Society, and fancied ourselves the most learned 
plrdos in existence. Every one had a great character assigned 
him, suggested, by some casual habit or aif ectation. One heavy 
fellow drank an enormous quantity of tea ; rolled in his arm- 
chair, talked sententiously, pronounced dogmatically, and was 
considered a second Dr. Johnson ; another, who happened to be 
a curate, uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and was 
the Swift of our association. Thus we had also our Popes and 
Goldsmiths and Addisons, and a blue-stocking lady, whose 
drawing-room we frequented, who corresponded about nothing 
with all the world, and vv^rote letters with the stiffness and for- 
mality of a printed book, was cried up as another Mrs. Monta- 
gu. I v/as, by common consent, the juvenile proiigy, the 
poetical youth, the great genius, the pride and hope of the 
village, through whom it was to become one day as celebrated 
as Stratford-on-Avon. 

Islj father died and left me his blessing and his business. 
His blessing brought no money into my pocket ; and as to his 
buisness it soon deserted me : for I was busy writing poetry, 
and could not attend to law ; and my clients, though they had 
great respect for my talents, had no faith in a poetical attorney. 

I lost my business therefore, spent my money, and finished 
my poem. It was the Pleasures of Melancholy, and was cried 
up to the skies by the whole circle. The Pleasures of Imagina- 
tion, the Pleasures of Hope, and the Pleasures of Memory, 
though each had placed its author in the first rank of poets, 
T\"ere blank prose in comparison. Oiu' Mrs. IMontagu would cry 
over it from beginning to end. It was pronounced by all the 
members of the Literary, Scientific, and PhilosophicaJ Society 
the greatest poem of the age, and aU anticipated the noise it 
would make in the great w^orld. There was not a doubt but 
the London booksellers would be mad after it, and the only 
fear of my friends was, that I would make a sacrifice by sell- 
ing it too cheap. Every time they talked the matter over they 
increased the price. They reckoned up the gi^eat sums given 
for the poems of certain popular writers, and determined that 



32 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 

mine was worth more than all put together, and ought to be 
paid for accordingly. For my part, I was modest in my ex- 
pectations, and determined that I would be satisfied with a 
thousand guineas. So I put my poem in my pocket and set off 
for London. 

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my purse, 
and my head full of anticipations of fame and fortune. With 
what swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon old London from 
the heights of Highgate. I was like a general looking down 
upon a place he expects to conquer. The great metropolis lay 
stretched before me, buried under a home-made cloud of murky 
smoke, that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, 
and formed for it a kind of artificial bad weather. At the out- 
skirts of the city, away to the west, the smoke gradually 
decreased until all was clear and sunny, and the view stretched 
uninterrupted to the blue line of the Kentish Hills. 

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of St. 
Paul's swelled dimly through this misty chaos, and I pictured 
to myself the solemn realm of learnmg that lies about its base. 
How soon should the Pleasures of Melancholy throw this world 
of booksellers and printers into a bustle of business and delight ! 
How soon should I hear my name repeated by printers' devils 
throughout Pater Noster Row, and Angel Court, and Ave 
Maria Lane, until Amen corner should echo back the sound ! 

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fashionable 
publisher. Every new author patronizes him of course. In 
fact, it had been determined in the village circle that he should 
be the fortunate man. I cannot tell you how vaingloriously I 
walked the streets; my head was in the clouds. I "felt the airs 
of heaven playing about it, and fancied it already encircled by 
a halo of literary glory. As I passed by the windows of book- 
shops, I anticipated the time when my work would be shining 
among the hotpressed wonders of the day; and my face, 
scratched on copper, or cut in wood, figuring in fellowship 
with those of Scott and Byron and Moore. 

When I applied at the publisher's house there was something 
in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of my dress, that 
struck the clerks with reverence. They doubtless took me for 
some person of consequence, probably a digger of Greek roots, 
or a penetrator of pyramids. A proud man in a dirty shirt is 
always an imposing character in the world of letters ; one must 
feel intellectually secure before he can venture to dress shab- 
bily; none but a great scholar or a great genius dares to be 



THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 83 

dii'ty ; so I wiis ushered at once to the sanctum sanctorum of 
this liigh priest of Minerva. 

5^he foubhshing of books is a very different affair now-a-days 
from what it was in the time of Bernard Lintot. I found the 
publisher a fashionably-dressed man, in an elegant drawing- 
room, furnished with sofas and portraits of celebrated authors, 
and cases of splendidly bound books. He was writing letters 
at an elegant table. This was transacting business in style. 
The place seemed suited to the magnificent publications that 
issued from it. I rejoiced at the choice I had made of a pub- 
lisher, for I always liked to encourage men of taste and spirit. 

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port that I 
had been accustomed to maintain in our village circle ; though 
I threw in it something of a patronizing air, such as one feels 
Tv^hen about to make a man's fortune. The pubhsher paused 
with Ms pen in his hand, and seemed waiting in mute suspense 
to know what was to be announced by so singular an appari- 
tion. 

I put him at Ms ease in a moment, for I felt that I had but to 
com'e, see, and conquer. I made known my name, and the 
name of my poem ; produced my precious roll of blotted manu- 
script, laid it on the table with an emphasis, and told Mm at 
once, to save time and come directly to the point, the price 
was one thousand guineas. 

I h?td given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so in- 
clined. He continued looking at me for a moment with an air 
of wMmsical perplexity ; scanned me from head to foot ; looked 
down at the manuscript, then up again at me, then pointed to 
a chair ; and wMsthng softly to himself, went on writing Ms 
letter. 

I sat for some time waiting Ms reply, supposing he was mak- 
ing uj) his mind ; but he only paused occasionally to take a 
fresh dip of ink ; to stroke Ms chin or the tip of his nose, and 
then resumed Ms writing. It was evident Ms mmd was in- 
tently occupied upon some other subject ; but I had no idea 
that any other subject should be attended to and my poem he 
unnoticed on the table. I had supposed that every tMng 
would make way for the Pleasures of Melancholy. 

My gorge at length rose within me. I took up my manu- 
script; thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of the room; 
ma,king some noise as I went, to let my departure be heard. 
The publisher, however, was too much busied in minor con- 
cerns to notice it. I v/as suffered to walk down-stairs with- 



84 TALES OF A TEA VELLEB. 

out being called back. I sallied forth into tlie street, but no 
clerk was sent after me, nor did the publisher call after me 
from the drawing-room window. I have been told since, that 
he considered me either a madman or a fool. I leave you to 
judge now much he was in the v/rong in his opinion. 

When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled down in 
my pride and my expectations, and reduced my terms with 
the next bookseller to whom I applied. I had no better suc- 
cess : nor with a third : nor with a fourth. I then desired the 
booksellers to make an offer themselves; but the deuce an 
oif er would they make. They told me poetry was a mere drug ; 
everybody wrote poetry ; the market was overstocked with it. 
And then, they said, the title of my poem was not taking : that 
pleasures of all kinds vf ere worn threadbare ; nothing but hor- 
rors did now-a-days, and even these were almost worn out. 
Tales of pirates, robbers, and bloody Turks might answer toler- 
a^biy well; but then they must come from some established 
welL-knoY/n name, or the public would not look at them. 

At la.st I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller to read 
it and judge for himself. " Why, really, my dear Mr. — a— a— 
I forget your name," said he, cutting an eye at my rusty coat 
and shabby gaiters, ''really, sir, we are so pressed with busi- 
ness just nov/, and have so many manuscripts on hand to 
read, that vv^e have not time to look at any new production, 
but if you can call again in a week or two, or say the middle 
of next month, we may be able to look over your writings and 
give you an answer. Don't forget, the month after next — 
good morning, sir — happy to see you any time you are passing 
this way" — so saying he bowed me out in the ci vilest way 
imaginable. In short, sir, instead of an eager competition to 
secure my poem I could not even get it read ! In the mean 
time I was harassed by letters from my friends, wanting to 
know when the work was to appear ; who was to be my pub- 
lisiier ; but above allthings warning me not to let it go too cheap. 

There was but one alternative left. I determined to publish 
the poem myself; and to have my triumph over the book- 
sellers, when it sliould becomxe the fashion of the day. I ac- 
cordingly published the Pleasures of Melancholy and ruined 
myself. Excepting the copies sent to the reviews, and to my 
friends in the country, not one, I believe, ever left the book- 
seller's warehouse. The printer's bill drained my purse, and 
the Oiily notice that was taken of my v/ork was contained in 
the advertisements paid for by myself. 



THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 85 

I could have borne all tliis, and have attributed it as usual t^ 
the mismanagement of the publisher, or the want of taste in the 
pubhc: and could have made the usual appeal to posterity: 
but my village friends would not let me rest in quiet. They 
were picturing me to themselves ieasting with the great, com- 
muning with the hterary, and in the high course of fortune and 
renown. Every little while, some one came to me with a letter 
of introduction from the village circle, recommending him to 
my attentions, and requesting that I would make him known 
in society ; with a hint that an mtroduction to the house of a 
celebrated hterary nobleman would be extremely agreeable. 

I determined, therefore, to change my lodgings, drop my cor- 
respondence, and disappear altogether from the viev/ of my 
village admirers. Besides, I was anxious to make one mora 
poetic attemjpt. I was by no means disheartened by the failure 
of my first. My poem was evidently too didactic. The public 
was wise enough. It no longer read for instruction. "They 
want horrors, do they?" said I, "I'faith, then they shall have 
enough of them." So I looked out for some quiet retired place, 
where I might be out of reach of my friends, and have leisure 
to cook up some delectable dish of poetical "hell-broth." 

I had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, when 
chance threw me in the way of Canonbnry Castle. It is an 
ancient brick tower, hard by " merry Islington ;" the remains 
of a hunting-seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she took the plea- 
sures of the country, when the neighborhood was aU wood- 
land. What gave it particular interest in my eyes, was the 
circumstance that it had 'bQQii the residence of a poet. It was 
here Goldsmith resided v/hen he wrote his Deserted Village. 
I was shown the very apartment. It was a relique of the 
original style of the castle, with x^anneHed v/ainscots and gotiiic 
windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, and with its 
having been the residence of poor Goldy. ' ' Goldsmith was a 
pretty poet," said I to myself, "a very pretty poet; though 
rather of the old school. He did not think and feel so strongly 
as is the fashion now-a-days ; but had he lived m these times 
of hot hearts and hot heads, he would have written quite dif- 
ferently." 

In a few days I was quietly established in my new quarters ; 
my books all arranged, my writing desk placed hj a window 
looking out into the field; and I felt as snug as Eobinson 
Crusoe, v/hen he had finished his bower. For several days I 
enjoyed all the novelty of change and the charms which grace 



86 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

a new lodgings before one lias found out tlieir defects. I 
rambled about the fields where I fancied Goldsmith had ram- 
bled. I explored merry Islington ; ate my solitary dinner at 
the Black Bull, which according to tradition was a country 
seat of Sir Walter Raleigh, and would sit and sip my wine and 
muse on old times in a quaint old room, where many a council 
had been held. 

Ail this did very well for a few days : I was stimulated by 
novelty ; inspired by the associations awakened in my mind by 
these curious haunts, and began to think I felt the spirit of 
composition stirring within me ; but Sunday came, and with it 
the whole city vforld, swarming about Canonbury Castle. I 
could not open my v>^indow but I was stunned with shouts and 
noises from the cricket ground. The late quiet road beneath 
my window was alive with the tread of feet and clack of 
tongues; and to comx)Iete my misery, I found that my quiet 
retreat was absolutely a " show house!" the tov/er and its con- 
tents being shown to strangers at sixpence a head. 

There was a perpetual tramping up-stairs of citizens and 
their families, to look about the country from the top of the 
tower, and to take a peep at the city through the telescope, to 
try if they could discern their own chimneys. And then, in 
the midst of a vein of thought, or a moment of inspiration, I 
was interrupted, and all my ideas put to flight, hj my intolera- 
ble landlady's tapping at the door, and asking me, if I vv^ould 
" jist please to let a lady and gentleman come in to take a look 
at Mr. Goldsmith's room." 

If you know anything what an author's study is, and what 
an author is himself, you must know that there was no stand- 
ing this. I put a positive interdict on my room's being ex- 
hibited; but then it was shown when I was absent, and my 
papers put in confusion; and on returning home one day, I 
absolutely foiy^d a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping 
over my manuscripts; a.nd my landlady in a panic at my 
appearance. I tried to make out a little longer by taking the 
key in my pocket, but it would not do. I overhea^rd mine 
hostess one day telling some of her customers on the stairs 
that the room was occupied by an author, who was always in 
a tantrum if interrupted ; and I immediately perceived, by a 
slight noise at the door, that they were peeping at me through 
the key-hole. By the head of Apollo, but this was quite too 
much ! with all my eagerness for fame, and my ambition of 
the stare of the million, I had no idea of being exhibited by 



THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 87 

retail, at sixpence a head, and tliat through a key-hole. So I 
bade adieu to Canonbury Castle, merry Islington, and the 
haunts of poor Goldsmith, without having advanced a single 
line in my labors. 

My next quarters were at a small white-washed cottage, 
which stands not far from Hempstead, just on the brow of a 
hill, looking over Chalk farm, and Camden town, remarkable 
for the rival houses of Mother Red Cap and Mother Black Cap ; 
and so across Crackskull common to the distant city. 

The cottage is in no wise remarkable in itself ; but I regarded 
it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a persecuted 
author. Hither poor Steele had retreated and lain perdue 
when persecuted by creditors and bailiffs; those immemorial 
plagues of authors and free-spirited gentlemen ; and here he had 
written many nmnbers of the Spectator. It was from hence, 
too, that he had despatched those little notes to his lady, so 
full of affection and whimsicahty ; in which the fond husband, 
the careless gentleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so 
oddly blended. I thought, as I first eyed the window^ of his 
apartment, that I could sit within it and write volumes. 

No such thing! It was haymaking season, and, as ill luck 
would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was a little 
alehouse with the sign of the load of hay. Whether it was 
there in Steele's tune or not I cannot say ; but it set all attempt 
at conception or inspiration at defiance. It was the resort of 
aU the Irish haymakers who mow the broad fields in the neigh- 
borhood ; and of drovers and teamsters who travel that road. 
Here would they gather in the endless summer twilight, or by 
the hght of the harvest moon, and sit round a table at the 
door ; and tipple,- and laugh, and quarrel, and fight, and sing 
drowsy songs, and dawdle away the hours until the deep 
solemn notes of St. Paul's clock would warn the varlets home. 

In the day-time I was still less able to write. It was broad 
summer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and 
the perfume of the new -mown hay brought with it the 
recollection of my native fields. So instead of remaining in 
my room to write, I went wandering about Primrose Hill and 
Hempstead Heights and Shepherd's Field, and aU those Arca- 
dian scenes so celebrated by London bards. I cannot tell you 
how many dehcious hours I have passed lying on the cocks of 
new-mown hay, on the pleasant slopes of some of those hills, 
inhaling the fragrance of the fields, while the summer fly 
buzzed above me, or the grasshopper leaped into my bosom; 



88 TALES OF A TRAYELLEU. 



!^P 



and how I have gazed with half -shut eye upon the smoky ma: 
of London, and Hstened to the distant sound of its population, 
and pitied the poor sons of earth toihng in its bowels, hke 
Gnomes in " the dark gold mine." 

People may say what they please about Cockney pastorals ; 
but after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty about the 
western vicinity of London; and any one that has looked 
down upon the valley of Westend, with its soft bosom of green 
pasturage, lying open to the south, and dotted with cattle ; the 
steeple of Hempstead rising among rich groves on the brow of 
the hill, and the learned height of Harrow in the distance; 
will confess that never has he seen a more absolutely rural 
landscape in the vicinity of a great metropolis. 

Still, however, I found; myself not a whit the better oft for 
my frequent change of lodgings ; and I began to discover that 
in literature, as in trade, the old proverb holds good, "a roll- 
ing stone gathers no moss." 

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very venge- 
ance with me, I could not mount, my fancy into the termagant 
vein. I could not conceive, amidst the smiling landscape, a 
scene of blood and murder ; and the smug citizens in breeches 
and gaiters, put all ideas of heroes and bandits out of my brain. 
I could thing of nothing but dulcet subjects. " The pleasures 
of spring" — "the x^leasures of solitude" — "the pleasures of 
tranquillity"— "the pleasures of sentunent" — nothing but pleas- 
ures; and I had the painful experience of "the pleasures of 
melancholy" too strongly in my recollection to be beguiled by 
them. 

Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently in my 
rambiings loitered about Hempstead Hill ; which is a kind of 
Parnassus of the metropolis. At such times I occasionally 
took my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle. It is a country inn so 
named. The very spot where that notorious rebel and his fol- 
loAvers held their council of war. It is a favorite resort of citi- 
zens vv^hen rurally inchned, as it commands fine fresh air and a 
good view of the city. 

I sat one day in the public room of this inn, ruminating over 
a beafsteak and a pint of port, when my imagination kindled 
up with ancient and heroic images. I had long v^^anted a 
theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke upon my mind ; I de- 
termined to write a poem on the history of Jack Straw. I was 
so full of my subject that I was fearful of being anticipated. 
I wondered that nonp of the poets of the day, in their re- 



THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR 89 

searches after nifiian heroes, had ever thought of Jack Straw. 
I went to work pell-mell, blotted several sheets of paper with 
choice floating thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be 
ready at a moment's warning. In a few days' time I sketched 
out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but to 
give it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript and 
stroU about Caen Wood, and read aloud ; and would dine at the 
castle, by v\^ay of keeping up the vein of thought. 

I was taking a meal there, one da.y, at a rather late hour, in 
the public room. There was no other company but one man, 
who sat enjoying his pint of port at a window, and noticing 
the passers-by. He was dressed in a green shooting coat. Kis 
countenance was strongly marked. Ho had a hooked nose, a 
romantic eye, excepting that it had something of a squint ; and 
sJtogether, as I thought, a poetical style of head. I was quite 
taken with the man, for you must know I am a little of a, 
physiognomist : I set him. dovv^n at once for either a poet or a 
philosopher. 

As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every man 
a volume of human nature, I soon fell into conversation v/ith 
the stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was by no means dif- 
ficult of access. After I had dined, I joined him at the win- 
dow, and we became so sociable that I proposed a bottle of 
wine together ; to which he most, cheerf idly assented. 

I was too fuU of my poem to keep long quiet on the subject, 
and began to talk about the origin of the tavern, and the his- 
tory of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaintance to be per- 
fectly at home on the topic, and to jump exactly with my hu- 
naor in every respect. I became elevated by the wine and the 
conversation. In the fullness of an author's feelings, I told him 
of my projected poem, and repeated some passages; and he v/as 
in raptures. He was evidently of a strong poetical turn. 

" Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same time, " our poets 
don't look at home. I don't see why ^Ye need go out of old 
England for robbers and rebels to write about. I like your Jack 
Straw, sir. He's a home-made hero. I like him, sir. I like 
him exceedingly. He's English to the back bone, damme. 
Give me honest old England, after all ; them's my sentiments, 
sir!" 

*'I honor your sentiments," cried I zealously. "They are 
exactly my own. An English ruffian for poetry is as good a 
ruffian for poetry as any in Italj'- or Germany, or the Archi- 
pelago; but it is hard to make our poets think so." 



90 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

" More shame for tlieml" replied the man in green. ''What 
a plague would they have ?" What have we to do with their 
Archipelagos of Italy and Germany? Haven't we heaths and 
commons and high- ways on our own little island? Aye, and 
stout fellows to pad the hoof over them too? Come, sir, my 
service to you — I agree with you perfectly." 

"Poets in old times had right notions on this subject," con- 
tinued I ; " witness the fine old ballads about Eobin Hood, Allen 
A'Dale, and other staunch blades of yore." 

"Eight, sir, right," interrupted he. "Robin Hood ! He was 
the lad to cry stand! to a man, and never flinch." 

"Ah, sir," said I, "they had famous bands of robbers in the 
good old times. Those were glorious poetical days. The merry 
crew of Sherwood Forest, who led such a roving picturesque 
life, 'under the green. vood tree.' I have often wished to visit 
their haunts, and tread the scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck, 
and Clym of the Clough, and Sir William of Coudeslie." 

" Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, " we have had sev- 
eral very pretty gangs since their day. Those gallant dogs that 
kept about the great heaths in the neighborhood of London ; 
about Bagshot, and Hounslow, and Black Heath, for instance — • 
come, sir, my service to you. You don't drinli." 

"I suppose," said I, emptying my glass — "I suppose you 
have heard of the famous Turpui, who was born in this very 
village of Hempstead, and who used to lurk with his gang in 
Epping Forest, about a hundred years since." 

"Have I?" cried he — "to be sure I have! A hearty old 
blade that ; sound as pitch. Old Turpentine !— as we used to 
call him. A famous fine fellow, sir. " 

"Well, sir," continued I, "I have visited Waltham Abbey, 
and Chinkford Church, merely from the stories I heard, when 
a boy, of his exploits there, and I have searched Epping Forest 
for the cavern where he used to conceal himself. You must 
know," added I, "that I am a sort of amateur of highwaymen. 
They were dashing, daring fellows ; the last apologies that we 
had for the knight errants of yore. Ah, sir ! the country has 
been sinking gradually into tameness and commonplace. We 
are losing the old English spirit. The bold knights of the post 
have all dwindled down into lurking footpads and sneaking 
pick-pockets. There's no such thing as a dashing gentleman- 
like robbery committed now-a-days on the king's highway. A 
man may roll from one end of England to the other in a drowsy 
coach or jingling post-chaise without any other adventure than 



THE POOR DEVIL AUTHOR 91 

that of being occasionally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, 
or having an ill-cooked dinner. 

' ' We hear no more of pubhc coaches being stopped and robbed 
by a well-momited gang of resolute fellows with pistols in their 
hands and crapes over their faces. What a pretty i)oetical in- 
cident was it for example in domestic life, for a family car- 
riage, on its way to a country seat, to be attacked about dusk ; 
the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of 
their necklaces and ear-rings, by a pohtely-spoken highwayman 
on a blood mare, who afterwards leaped the hedge and galloped 
across the country, to the admiration of Miss Carohna the 
daughter, who would write a long and romantic account of the 
adventure to her friend Miss Juhana in town. Ah, sir! we 
meet with nothing of such incidents now-a-days." 

"That, sir," — said my companion, taking advantage of a 
pause, when I stopped to recover breath and to take a glass of 
wine, wliich he had just poured out — "that, sir, craving your 
pardon, is not owing to any want of old English pluck. It is 
the effect of this cursed system of banking. People do not 
travel with bags of gold as they did formerly. They have 
post notes and drafts on bankers. To rob a coach is like catch- 
ing a crow; where you have nothing but carrion flesh and 
feathers for your pains. But a coach in old times, sir, was 
as rich as a Spanish galleon. It turned out the yeUow boys 
bravely; and a priva/ce carriage was a cool hundred or two 
at least." 

I cannot express how much I was delighted with the sallies 
of my new acquaintance. He told me tha.t he often frequented 
the castle, and would be glad to know more of me ; and I prom- 
ised myself many a pleasant afternoon v/ith him, when I should 
read him my poem, as it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks ; 
for it was evident he had the true poetical feehng. 

"Come, sir!" said he, pushing the bottle, "Damme, I like 
you ! — You're a man after my own heart ; I'm cursed slow in 
making new acquaintances in general. One must stand on the 
reserve, you know. But when I meet with a man of your kid- 
ney, damme my heart jumps at once to him. Them's my sen- 
timents, sh\ Come, sir, here's Jack Straw's health! I pre- 
siune one can drink it now-a-days without treason !" 

" With all my heart," said I gayly, "and Dick Turpin's into 
the bargain !" 

" Ah, sir," said the man in green, "those are the kind of men 
for poetry. The Newgate kalendar, sir ! the Newgate kalendar 



92 TALES OF A TEA VSLLER. 

is your only reading ! There's tlie place to look for bold deeds 
and dashing fellows." 

We were so much pleased with each other that we sat until 
a late hour. I insisted on paying the bill, for both my purse 
and my heart were full ; and I agreed that he should pay the 
S50re at our next meeting. As the coaches had all gone that 
run between Hempstead and London he had to return on foot, 
lie wa.s so delighted with the idea of my poem that he could 
talk of nothing else. He made me repeat such passages as I 
could remember, and though I did it in a very mangled man- 
nej', having a wretched memory, y et he- was in raptures. 

Every now and then he would break out with some scrap 
which he would misquote most terribly, but would rub his 
hands and exclaim, "By Jupiter, that's fine! that's noble 1 
Damme, sir, if I can conceive how you hit upon such ideas ! " 

I must confess I did not always relish his misquotations, 
which sometimes made absolute nonsense of the passages ; but 
what author stands upon trifles when he is praised? Never had 
I spent a more deligiitful evening. I did not perceive how the 
time flew. I could not bear to separate, but continued walking 
on, arm in arm with him past my lodgings, through Camden 
town, and across Cracksculi Common, talking the whole way 
about my poem. 

When we were half-wo.3^ across the common he interrupted 
me in the midst of a quotation by telling me that this had been 
a famous place for footpads, and was still occasionally infested 
by them; and that a man had recently been shot there in 
attemT)ting to defend himself. 

"The more fool he!" cried I. "A man is an idiot to risk 
life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. It's quite 
a different case from that of a duel, where one's honor is con- 
cerned. For my part-, " added I, " I should never think of mak- 
ing resistance agfdnst one of those desperadoes." 

"Say you so?" cried my friend in green, turning suddenly 
upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast, " Why, then have 
at you, my lad!— come, disburse! empty! unsack!" 

In a v/ord, I found that the muse had played me another of 
her tricks, and had betrayed me into the hands of a footpad. 
There was no time to parley ; he made me turn my pockets 
inf:5ide out ; and hearing the sound of distant footsteps, he made 
one fell swoop upon purse, watch, and all, gave me a thwack 
over my unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on the ground ; 
and scampered away with Ms booty. 



THE FOOR DEVIL AUTHOR. 93 

I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two 
afterwards ; when I caught a sight of his poetical countenance 
among a crew of scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the 
way for transportation. He recognized me at once, ti^Dped me 
an impudent wink, and asked me how I came on with the liis- 
tory of Jack Straw's castle. 

The catastrophe at Crackscull Common put an end to my 
summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical enthusiasm 
for rebels, robbers, and liighwaymen. I was put out of conceit 
of my subject, and what was worse, I was lightened of my 
purse, in which was almost every farthing I had in the v/orld. 
So I abandoned Su- Richard Steele's cottage in despair, and 
crept into less celebrated, though no less poetical and airy 
lodgings in a garret in town. 

I see you are growing weary, so I will not detain you with 
any more of my luckless attempts to get astride of Pegasus. 
Still I could not consent to give up the trial and abandon those 
dreams of renown in which I had indulged. How should I 
ever be able to look the literary circle of my na.tive village in 
the face, if I were so completely to falsify their predictions. 
For some time longer, therefore, I continued to write for fame, 
and of course was the most miserable dog in existence, besides 
beins in continual risk of starvation. 

I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad 
heart and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and looked 
wistfully down the areas in the west end of the town; and seen 
through the kitchen windows the fires gleaming, and the joints 
of meat turning on the spits and dripping with gTavy ; and the 
cook maids beating up puddings, or trussing turkeys, and have 
felt for the moment that if I could but have the run of one of 
those kitchens, Apollo and the muses might have the hungry 
heights of Parnassus for me. Oh, sir! talk of meditations 
among the tombs— they are nothing so melancholy as the medi- 
tations of a poor devil without penny in pouch, along a line of 
kitchen windows towards dinner-time. 

At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, the 
idea all at once entered my head, that perhaps I was not so 
clever a fellow as the village and myself had supposed. It was 
the salvation of me. The moment the idea popped into my 
brain, it brought conviction and comfort with it. I awoke as 
from a dream. I gave up immortal fame to those vv^ho could 
live on air ; took to writing for mere bread, and have ever since 
led a very tolerable life of it. TJiere is no man of letters so 



94 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

much at Ms ease, sir, as he that has no character to gain or 
lose. I had to train myself to it a httle, however, and to cHp 
my wings short at first, or they would have carried me up into 
poetry in spite of myself. So I determined to begin by the 
opi^osite extreme, and abandoning the higher regions of the 
craft, I came plump down to the lowest, and turned creeper. 

' ' CreerTer, " interrupted I, ' ' and pray what is that ?" Oh, sir ! 
I see you are ignorant of the language of the craft ; a creeper 
is one v/ho furnishes the newspapers with paragraphs at so 
much a line, one that goes about in quest of misfortunes; 
attends the Bow-street office ; the courts of justice and every 
other den of mischief and iniquity. We are paid at the i-ate of 
a penny a line, and as we can sell the same paragraph to almost 
every paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. 
Now and then the muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly 
quiet, and then we rafher starve; and sometunes the uncon- 
scionable editors will clip our paragraphs when they are a little 
too rhetorical, and snip off twopence or threepence at a go. .1 
have many a time had my pot of porter snipped off of my din- 
ner in this way ; and have had to dine with dry lips. However, 
I cannot complain. I rose gradually in the lower ranks of the 
craft, and am now, I think, in the most comfortable region of 
literature. 

"And pray," said I, "what may you be at present?" 
" At present," said he, "I am a regular job writer, and turn 
my hand to anything. I work up the writings of others at so 
much a sheet ; turn off translations ; write second-rate articles 
to fill up reviews and magazines ; comj)ile travels and voyages, 
and furnish theatrical criticisms for the newspapers. All this 
authorship, you perceive, is anonymous ; it gives no reputation, 
except among the trade, where I am considered an author of 
all work, and am always sure of employ. That's the only 
reputation I want. I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or 
critics, and leave immortal fame to those that choose to fret 
and fight about it. Take my word for it, the only happy author 
in this world is he who is below the care of reputation." 



The preceding anecdotes of Buckthorne's early schoolmate, 
and a variety of peculiarities which I had remarked in him- 
self, gave me a strong curiosity to know something of his own 
history. There was a dash of careless good humor about him 
that pleased me exceedingly, and at times a wliimsicai tinge 
of melancholy ran through his humor that gave it an addi- 



THE TOUNQ MAJS OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 95 

tional relish. He had evidently been a little chilled and buf- 
feted by fortune, without being soured thereby, as some fruits 
become mellower and sweeter, from having been bruised or 
frost-bitten. He smiled when I expressed my desire. "I have 
no great story," said he, "to relate. A mere tissue of errors 
and follies. But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch of 
it, by wliich you may judge of the rest." And so, without 
any farther prelude, he gave me the following anecdotes of 
his early adventures. 



BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT 
EXPECTATIONS. 

I WAS born to very little property, but to gi^eat expectations ; 
which is perhaps one of the most unlucky fortunes that a man 
can be born to. My father was a country gentleman, the last 
of a very ancient a.nd honorable, but decayed family, and 
resided in an old hunting lodge in Warwickshire. He was a 
keen sportsman and hved to the extent of his moderate 
income, so that I had httle to expect from that quarter ; but 
then I had a rich uncle by the mother's side, a penurious, 
accumulating curmudgeon, who it was confidently expected 
would make me his heir; because he was an old bachelor; 
because I was named after him, and because he hated all the 
world except myself. 

He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in misan- 
thropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. Thus, 
though my mother was an only sister, he had never forgiven 
her marriage with my father, against whom he had a cold, 
till, immovable pique, which had lain at the bottom of his 
leart, like a stone in a well, ever since they had been school 
I'oys together. My mother, however, considered me as the 
intermediate being that was to bring every thing again into 
harmony, for she looked upon me as a prodigy — God bless her. 
My heart overflows whenever I recall her tenderness : she was 
the most excellent, the most indulgent of mothers. I was her 
only child ; it was a pity she had no more, for she had fondness 
of heart enough to have spoiled a dozen ! 

I was sent, at an early age, to a public school, sorely against 
my mother's wishes, but my father insisted that it was the 



96 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

only way to make boys hardy. The school was kept by a con- 
scientious prig of the ancient system, who did his duty by the 
boys intrusted to his care; that is to say, we were flogged 
soundly v/hen we did not get our lessons. We were put into 
classes and thus flogged on in droves along the highways of 
knowledge, in the same manner as cattle are driven to market, 
where those that are heavy in gait or short in leg ha^ve to 
suffer for the superior alertness or longer Hmbs of their com- 
j)anions. 

For my part, I confess it with shame, I was an incorrigible 
laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling, that is to say, 
I have always been an idle fellow and prone to play the vaga- 
bond. • I used to get away from my books and school v/henever 
I could, and ramble about the fields. I was surrounded by 
seductions for such a temperament. The school-house was an 
old-fashioned, white-washed mansion of wood and plaister, 
standing on the skirts of a beautiful village. Close by it was 
the venerable church with a tall Gothic spire. Before it spread 
a lovely green valley, with a little stream glistening along- 
through willow groves ; while a line of blue hills that bounded 
the landscape gave rise to many a summer day dream as to the 
fairy land that lay beyond. 

In spite of all the scourgings I suiiered at that school to 
make me love my book, I cannot but look back upon the place 
with fondness. Indeed, I considered this frequent flagellation 
as the common lot of humanity, and the regular mode in 
which scholars v/ere made. My kind mother used to lament 
over my details of the sore trials I underwent in the cause of 
learning ; but my father turned a deaf ear to her expostula- 
tions. He had been flogged through school himself, and swore 
there was no other way of making a man of parts ; though, let 
me speak it with ail due reverence, my father was but an indif- 
ferent illuL'/. ration of his own theory, for he was considered a 
grievous blockhead. 

My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early 
period. The village church was attended every Sunday by a 
neighboring squire— the lord of the manor, whose park 
stretched quite to the village, and whose spacious country seat 
seemed to take the church under its protection. Indeed, you 
would have thought the church had been consecrated to him 
instead of to the Deity. The parish clerk bowed low before 
him, and the vergers humbled themselves into the dust in his 
presence. He always entered a Httle late and with some stir, 



THE TOUNQ 3//liV OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 97 

striking his cane emphatically on the ground; swaying his 
hat in his hand, and looking loftily to the right and left, as he 
wallced slowly up the aisle, and the parson, who always ate his 
Sunday dinner with him, never commenced service until he 
appeared. He sat with his family in a large pew gorgeously 
lined, hmnbhng himself devoutly on velvet cusliions, and read- 
ing lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit out of splendid 
gold and morocco prayer-books. Y/henever the parson spoke 
of the difficulty of the rich man's entering the kingdom of 
heaven, the eyes of the congregation would turn towards the 
"grand pew," and I thought the squire seemed pleased with the 
application. 

The pomp of this pew and the aristocratical air <sf th6 family 
struck my imagination wonderfully, and I fell desperately in 
love with a little daughter of the squire's about twelve years of 
age. This freak of fancy made me more truant from my 
studies than ever. I used to stroll about the squire's pa,rk, 
and would lurk near the house to catch glimpses of this little 
damsel at the windows, or playing about the lawns, or walking 
out with her governess. 

I had not enterprise or impudence enough to venture from 
my concealment; indeed, I felt hke an arrant poacher, until 
I read one or two of Ovid's Metamorphoses, when I pic- 
tured myself as some sylvan deity, and she a coy wood nymf)h 
of whom I was in pursuit. There is something extremely 
delicious in these early awakenings of the tender passion. 
I can feel, even at this moment, the thrilling of my boyish 
bosom, whenever by chance I caught a glimpse of her white 
frock fluttering among the shrubbery. I now began to read 
poetry. I cariied about in my bosom a volume of Waller, 
which I had purloined from my mother's library ; and I applied 
to my little fair one all the compliments lavished upon Sach- 
arissa. 

At length I danced with her at a school ball. I was so,awk- 
ward a booby, that I da.red sca.rcely speak to her; Irwas filled 
with awe and embarrassment in her presence ; but I was so 
inspired that my poetical temperament for the first time 
broke out in verse; and I fabricated some glowing fines, in 
which I be-rhymed tlie little lady under the favorite name of 
Sacharissa. I slipped the verses, trembling and blushing, into 
her hand the next Sunday as she came out of church. The fittle 
prude handed them to her mamma ; the mamma handed them 
to the squire; the squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent 



98 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

them in dudgeon to the school-master ; and the school-master, 
with a barbarity v/orthy of the dark ages, gave me a sound 
and peculiarly humiliating flogging for thus trespassing upon 
Parnassus. 

This was a sad outset for a votary of the muse. It ought to 
have cured me of my passion for poetry; but it only con- 
firmed it, for I felt the spirit of a martyr rising within me. 
What was as well, perhaps, it cured me of my passion for the 
young lady ; for I felt so indignant at the ignominious horsing 
I had incurred in celebrating her charms, that I could not hold 
up my head in church. 

Fortunately for my wounded sensibility, the midsunnner 
holydays came on, and I returned home. My mother, as usual, 
inquired into all my school concerns, my little pleasures, and 
cares, and sorrows ; for boj'hood has its share of the one as 
well as of the others. I told her all, and she was indignant at 
the treatment I had experienced. She fired up at the arrogance 
of the squire, and the prudery of the daughter ; and as to the 
school-master, she wondered where was the use of having 
school-masters, and why boys could not remain at home and be 
educated by tutors, under the eye of their mothers. She asked 
to see the verses I had written, and she was delighted with 
them; for to confess the truth, she had a pretty taste in poetry. 
She even showed to them to the T)arson's wife, who protested 
they were charming, and the parson's three daughters insisted 
on each having a copy of them. 

All this was exceedingly balsamic, and I vv^as still more con- 
soled and encouraged, when the young ladies, who were the 
blue-stockings of the neighborhood, and had read Dr. Johnson's 
lives quite through, assured my mother that great geniuses 
never studied, but were alvf ays idle ; upon which I began to 
surmise that I was myself something out of the common run. 
My father, however, was of a very different oj^inion, for when 
my mother, in the pride of her heart, showed him my copy of 
verses, he threw them out of the window, asking her "if she 
meant to make a ballad monger of the boy. " But he was a care- 
less, common-thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever loved 
him much ; my mother absorbed all my filial affection. 

I used occasionally, during holydays, to be sent on short 
visits to the uncle, who vv'-as to make me his heir ; they thought 
it would keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. He 
was a withered, anxious-looking old fellow, and lived in a deso- 
late old country seat, v/hich he suffered to go to ruin from 



THE YOXTNO MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 99 

absolute niggardliness. He kept but one man-servant, who 
had hved, or rather starved, with him for years. No woman 
was allowed to sleep in the house. A daughter of the old ser- 
vant hved by the gate, in what had been a porter's lodge, and 
was permitted to come into the house about an hour each day, 
to make the beds, and cook a morsel of provisions. 

The park that surrounded the house was all run wild ; the 
trees grown out of shape; the fish-ponds stagnant; the urns 
and statues fallen from their pedestals and buried among the 
rani?: grass. The hares and pheasants were so httle molested, 
except by poachers, that they bred in great abundance, and 
sported about the rough lawns and weedy avenues. To guard 
the premises and frighten off robbers, of whom he was some- 
what apprehensive, and visitors, whom he held in almost equal 
awe, my uncle ke^t two or three blood-hounds, who were al- 
ways prowhng round the house, and were the dread of the 
neighboring peasantry. They were gaunt and half-starved, 
seemed ready to devour one from mere hunger, and were an 
effectual check on any stranger's approach to tliis wizard 
castle. 

Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now and 
then during the holydays. I v/as, as I have before said, the 
old man's favorite ; that is to say, he did not hate me so much 
as he did the rest of the world. I had been apprised of his 
character, and cautioned to cultivate his good- will ; but I was 
too young and careless to be a courtier ; and indeed have never 
been sufficiently studious of my interests to let them govern my 
feelings. However, we seemed to jog on very well together ; 
and as my visits cost him almost nothing, they did not seem to 
be very unwelcome. I brought with me my gun and fishing- 
rod, and half supplied the table from the park and the fish- 
ponds. 

Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle rarely 
spoke; he pointed for whatever he wanted, and the servant 
perfectly understood hun. Indeed, his man John, or Iron 
John, as he was called in the neighborhood, was a counterpart 
of his master. He was a tall, bony old f eUow, with a dry wig 
that seemed made of cow's tail, and a face as tough as though 
it had been made of buU's hide. He was generally clad in a 
long, patched livery coat, taken out of the wardrobe of the 
house ; and which bagged loosely about him, having evidently 
belonged to some corpulent predecessor, in the more plenteous 
days of the mansion. From long habits of taciturnity, the 



100 TALES OF A TRAVELLETL 

hinges of his jaws seemed to have grown absolutely rusty, and 
it cost him as much effort to set them ajar, and to let out a 
tolerable sentence, as it would have done to set open the iron 
gates of a park, and let out the family carriage that was drop- 
ping to pieces in the coach-house. 

I cannot say, however, but that J was for some tmie amused 
with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very desolateness of 
the establishment had something in it that hit my fancy. 
When the weather was fine I used to amuse myself, in a soli- 
tary Avay, by rambling about the park, and coursing like a 
colt across its lawns. The hares and pheasants seemed to sta.re 
with surprise, to see a human being walking these forbidden 
grounds by day -light. Sometimes I amused myself by jerking 
stones, or shooting at birds with a bow and arrows; for to 
have used a guji would have been treason. Now and then my 
path was crossed by a little red-headed, ragged-tailed urchin, 
the son of the woman at the lodge, who ran wild about the 
premises. I tried to draw him into familiarity, and to make a 
companion of him ; but he seemed to have imbibed the strange, 
unsocial character of every thing around him ; and always kept 
aloof; so I considered him as another Orson, and amused my- 
self with shooting at him with my bow and arrows, and he 
would hold up his breeches with one hand, ond scamper away 
like a deer. 

There was something in all this loneliness and wildness 
strangely pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and 
weather-broken, with the names of favorite horses over the 
vacant stalls ; the windows bricked and boarded up ; the broken 
roofs, garrisoned by rooks and jackdaws; aU had a singularly 
forlorn appearance: one would have concluded the house to 
be totally uninhabited, were it not for a little thread of blue 
smoke, which now and then curled up like a corkscrew, from 
the centre of one of the wide chimneys, when my uncle's star- 
veling meal was cooking. 

My imcle's room was in a remote corner of the building,, 
strongly secured and generally locked. I was never admitted 
into this strong-hold, where the old man would remain for the 
greater part of the time, drawn up like a veteran spider in the 
citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, was: 
open to me, and I sauntered about it unconstrained. Th& 
damp and rain which beat in through the broken windows,, 
crumbled the paper from the walls ; mouldered the pictures,, 
and gradually destroyed the furniture. I loved to rove about- 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. lOl 

the wide, waste chambers in bad weather, and listen to the 
howHng of the wind, and the banging about of the doors and 
windoYz-shiitters. I pleased myself with the idea how com- 
pletely, Avhen I came to the estate, I would renovate all things, 
and make the old building ring with merriment, till it w.as as- 
tonished at its own jocundity. 

The chamber which I occupied on these visits was the same 
that had been my mother's, when a girl. There was still the 
toilet-table of her own adorning; the landscapes of her own 
drawing. She had never seen it since her marriage, but would 
often ask me if every tlimg was still the same. All was just 
the same ; for I loved that chamber on her account, and had 
taken pains to put every thing in order, and to mend all the 
flaws in the windows with my own hands. I anticipated the 
time when I should once more welcome her to the house of her 
fathers, and restore her to this Uttie nesthng-place of her child- 
hood. 

At length my evil genius, or, what perhaps is the same thing, 
the muse, inspired me with the notion of rhyming aga^in. My 
uncle, who never went to church, used on Sundays to read 
chapters out of the Bible ; and Iron John, the woman from the 
lodge, and myself, were his congregation. It seemed to be all 
one to him what he read, so long as it was something from the 
Bible : sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of Solomon ; 
and this withered anatomy would read about being "stayed 
with flagons and comforted with apples, for he was sick 
of love." Sometimes he would hobble, with spectacle on nose, 
through whole chapters of hard Hebrew names in Deuteron- 
omy ; at which the poor woman would sigh and groan as if 
wonderfully moved. His fa,vorite book, however, was "The 
Pilgrim's Progress;" and when he came to that part which 
treats of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair, I thought invaria- 
bly of him and his desolate old countrj^ seat. So much did the 
idea amuse me, that I took to scribbling about it under the 
trees in the park ; and in a few days had made some progress 
in a poem, in which I had given a description of the place, 
under the name of Doubting Castle, and personified my uncle 
as Giant Despair. 

I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon sus- 
pected that my uncle had found it ; as he harshly intimated to 
me that I could return home, and that I need not come and see 
him again until he should send for me. 

Just about this time my mother died. — I cannot dwell upon 



102 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

this circumstance; my heart, careless and wayworn as it is. 
gushes with the recollection. Her death was an event that 
perhaps gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With her died 
all that made home attractive, for my father was harSh, as I 
have before said, and had never treated me with kindness. 
Not that he exerted any unusual severity towards me, but it 
was his way. I do not complain of him. In fact, I have never 
been of a complaining disposition. I seem born to be buffet- 
ed by friends and fortune, and nature has made me a careless 
endurer of buff etings. 

I now, however, began to grow very impatient of remaining 
at school, to be flogged for things that I did not like. I longed 
for variety, especially now that I had not my uncle's to resort to, 
by way of diversifying the dullness of school with the dreari- 
ness of his country seat. I was now turned of sixteen ; tall for 
my age, and full of idle fancies. I had a roving, inextinguish- 
able desire to see different kinds of life, and different orders of 
society ; and this vagrant humor had been fostered in me by 
S'om Dribble, the prime wag and great genius of the school, 
who had all the rambling propensities of a poet. 

I used to set at my desk in the school, on a fine summer's 
day, and instead of studying the book which lay open before 
me, my eye was gazing through the window on the green fields 
and blue hills. How I envied the happy groups seated on the 
tops of stage-coaches, chatting, and joking, and laughing, as 
they were whirled by the school-house, on their way to the 
metropolis. Even the wagoners trudging along beside their pon- 
derous teams, and traversing the kingdom, from one end to the 
other, were objects of envy to me. I fancied to myself what 
adventures they must experience, and what odd scenes of life 
they must witness. All this was doubtless the poetical tempera- 
ment working within me, and tempting me forth into a world 
of its own creation, which. I mistook for the world of real life. 

While my mother lived, this strange propensity to roam was 
counteracted by the stronger attractions of home, and by the 
powerful ties of affection, which drew me to her side : but now 
that she was gone, the attractions had ceased ; the ties were 
severed. I had no longer an anchorage ground for my heart ; 
but was at the mercy of every vagrant impulse. Nothing but 
the narrow allowance on v/hich my father kept me, and the 
consequent penury of my purse, prevented me from mounting 
the top of a stage-coach and launching myself adrift on the 
great ocean of life. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 103 

Just about this time the village was agitated for a day or 
two, by the passing through of several caravans, containing 
wild beasts, and other spectacles for a great fair annually held 
at a neighboring town. 

I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curiosity 
was powerfully awakened by this bustle of preparation. I 
gazed with respect and wonder at the vagrant personages who 
accompanied these caravans. I loitered about the village inn, 
listening with curiosity and delight to the slang talk and cant 
jokes of the showmen and their followers ; and I felt a.n eager 
desire to witness this fair, wliich my fancy decked out as 
sometliing wonderfully fine. 

A holy day afternoon presented, when I could be absent from 
the school from noon until evening. A wagon was going from 
the village to the fair. I could not resist the temptation, nor 
the eloquence of Tom Dribble, who was a truant to the very 
heart's core. We hired seats, and set off full of boyish expecta- 
tion. I promised myself that I would but take a peep at the 
land of promise, and hasten back again before my absence 
should be noticed. 

Heavens ! how happy I was on arriving at the fair ! How I 
was enchanted with the world of fun and pageantry around 
me ! The humors of Punch ; the feats of the equestrians ; the 
magical tricks of the conjurors ! But what principally caught 
my attention was — an itinerant theatre ; where a tragedy, pan- 
tomine, and farce were all acted in the course of half an hour, 
and more of the dramatis personee murdered, than at either 
Dniry Lane or Covent Garden in a whole evening. I have 
since seen many a play performed by the best actors in the 
world, but never have I derived half the dehght from any that 
I did from tliis first representation. 

There was a ferocious tyrant in a skull cap like an inverted 
porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently embroidered 
with gilt leather ; with liis face so be-whiskered and his eye- 
brows so knit and expanded Vvdth burn cork, that he made my 
heart quake within me as he stamped about the little stage. I 
was enraptured too witli the surpasssing beauty of a distressed 
damsel, in faded pink silk, and dirty white muslin, whom he 
held in cruel captivity by way of gaining her[aif ections ; and who 
wept and wrung her hands and fiourished a raggo 1 pocket 
handkerchief from the top of a.n mipregnable towei", ol the sizQ 
of a band-box. 

Even after I had come out from the play, I could not tear 



104 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

myself from the vicinity of tlie theatre ; but lingered, gazing, 
and wondering, and laughing at the dramatis personee, as they 
performed their antics, or danced upon a stage in front of the 
booth, to decoy a new set of spectators. 

I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd of 
•sensations that kept swarming upon me that I was like one 
entranced. I lost my companion Tom Dribble, in a tumult 
and scuffle that took place near one of the shows, but I was too 
much occupied in mind to think long about him. I strolled 
about until dark, when the fair was lighted up, and a new 
scene of magic opened upon me. The illumination of the tents 
and booths; the brilliant effect of the stages decorated with 
lamps, with dramatic groups flaunting about them in gaudy 
dresses, contrasted splendidly with the surrounding darkness ; 
while the uproar of drums, trumpets, fiddles, hautboys, and 
cymbais, mingled with the harangues of the showmen, the 
squeaking of Punch, and the shouts and laughter of the crowd, 
all united to comx)lete my giddy distraction. 

Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to my- 
self and thought of the school, I hastened to return. I inquired 
for the wagon in which I had come : it had been gone for hours. 
I asked the time : it was almost midnight ! A sudden quaking 
seized me. How was I to get back to school? I was too weary 
to make the journey on foot, and I knew not where to apply 
for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, could I venture 
to disturb the school-house long after midnight? to arouse that 
sleeping lion, the usher, in the very midst of his night's rest? 
The idea was too dreadful for a dehnquent school-boy. Ail the 
horrors of return rushed upon me — ^my absence must long 
before this have been remarked — and absent for a whole night? 
a deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the 
pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before my affright- 
ed fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humiliation in 
every variety of form ; and my heart sickened at the pictui-e. 
Alas ! how often are the petty ills of boyhood as painful to our 
tender natures, as are the sterner evils of manhood to our 
robuster mind,:-, 

I wandered about among the booths, and I might have 
derived a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the charms 
of this v/orld depend upon ourselves ; for I no longer saw any- 
thing gay or delightful in tlie revelry around me. At length I 
lay d own, wearied and pei'plexed, behind one of the large tents, 



THE YOITNQ M&N OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 105 

and covering myself with' the margin of the tent cloth to keep 
off the night chill, I soon fell fast asleep. 

I had not slept long, when I was awakened by the noise of 
merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the itinerant 
theatre, rudely constructed of boards and canvas. I peeped 
through an aperture, and saw the whole dramatis perscnse, 
tragedy, comedy, pantomime, all refreshing themselves after 
the final dismissal of their auditors. They were merry and 
gamesome, and made their flimsy theatre ring with laughter. I 
was astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce 
whiskers, who had made my heart quake as he strutted about 
the boards, now transformed into a fat, good hmnored fellow ; 
the beaming pr.rringer laid aside from his brow, and his jolly 
face washed from all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, 
too, to see the distressed domsel in faded silk and dirty muslin, 
who had trembled under liis tyranny, and afflicted me so much 
by her sorrows, now seated familiarly on his knee, and quaff- 
ing from the same tankard. Harlequin lay asleep on one of 
the benches; and monks, satyrs, and vestal virgins were 
grouped together, laughing outrageously at a byoad story told 
by an unhappy count, who had been barbarously murdered in 
the tragedy. This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep 
into another planet. I gazed and listened with intense curiosity 
and enjoyment. They had a thousand odd stories and jokes 
about the events of the day, and burlesque descriptions and 
mimickings of the spectators who had been admiring them. 
Their conversation was full of allusions to their adventures at 
different places, where they had exhibited ; the characters they 
had met with in different villages ; and the ludicrous difficulties 
in which they had occasionally been involved. AU past cares 
and troubles were now turned by these thoughtless beings into 
matter of merriment ; and made to contribute to the gayety of 
the moment. They had been moving from fair to fair about 
the kingdom, and Avere the next morning to set out on their 
way to London. 

My resolution was taken. I crept from my nest, and scram- 
bled through a hedge into a nei^boring field, where I went to 
work to make a tatterdemalion of myself. I tore my clothes ; 
soiled them with dirt ; begrimed my face and hands ; and, crawl- 
ing near one of the booths, purloined an old hat, and left my 
new one in its place. It was an honest theft, and I hope may 
not hereafter rise up in judgment a^gainst me. 



106 TAL^S OF A TUAVELLm. 

I now ventured to the scene of merrymaking, and, present- 
ing myself before the dramatic corps, offered myself as a 
volunteer. I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for "never 
before stood I in such a presence. " ~ I had addressed myself to 
the manager of the company. He was a fat man, dressed in 
dirty wliite ; with a red sash fringed with tinsel, swathed round 
his body. His face was smeared with paint, and a majestic 
plume towered from an old spangled black bonnet. He was 
the Jupiter tonans of this Olympus, and was surrounded by the 
interior gods and goddesses of his court. He sat on the end of 
a bench, by a table, with one arm akimbo and the other ex- 
tended to the handle of a tankard, which he had slowly set 
down from his lips as he surveyed me from head to foot. It 
was a moment of awful scrutiny, and I fancied the groups 
around all watching us in silent suspense, and waiting for the 
imperial nod. 

He questioned me as to who I was ; what were my qualifica- 
tions ; and what terms I expected. I passed myseK off for a 
discharged servant from a gentleman's family ; and as, happily, 
one does not require a special recommendation to get admitted 
into bad company, the questions on that head were easily satis- 
fied. As to my accomplishments, I would spout a little poetry, 
and knew several scenes of plays, which I had learnt at school 

exhibitions. I could dance , that was enough ; no further 

questions were asked me as to accomplishments ; it was the 
very thing they wanted ; and, as I asked no wages, but merely 
meat and drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bargain 
was struck in a moment. 

Behold me, therefore transformed of a sudden from a gentle- 
man student to a dancing buffoon ; for such, in fact, was the 
character in which I made my debut. I was one of those who 
formed the groups in the dramas, and were principally em- 
ployed on the stage in front of the booth, to attract company. 
I was equipped as a satyr, in a dress of drab frize that fitted to 
my shape ; with a great laughing mask, ornamented with huge 
ears and short horns. I was pleased with the disguise, because 
it kept me form the danger of being discovered, whilst we were 
in that part of the country ; and, as I had merely to dance and 
make antics, the character was favorable to a debutant, being 
almost on a par with Simon Snug's part of the Lion, which 
required nothing but roaring. 

I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden change in 
my situation. I felt no degradation, for I had seen too little of 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 107 

society to be thoughtful about the differences of rank ; and a 
boy of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I had given up no 
friend ; for there seemed to be no one in the world that cared 
for me, now my poor mother was dead. I had given up no 
pleasure ; for my pleasure was to ramble about and indulge the 
flow of a poetical imagination; and I now enjoyed it in perfec- 
tion. There is no hfe so truly poetical as that of a dancing 
buffoon. 

It may be said that all this argued grovelling inclinations. I 
do not think so ; not that I mean to vindicate myself in any 
great degree ; I know too well what a whimsical compound I 
am. But in this instance I was seduced by no love of low com- 
pany, nor disposition to indulge in low vices. I have always 
despised the brutally vulgar; and I have always had a disgust 
at vice, whether in high or low life. I was governed merely 
by a sudden and thoughtless impule. I had no idea of resort- 
ing to this profession as a mode of hfe ; or of attaching myself 
to these people, as my future class of society. I thought merely 
of a temporary gratification of my curiosity, and an indulgence 
of my humors. I had already a strong relish for the peculiari- 
ties of character and the varieties of situation, and I have 
always been fond of the comedy of life, and desirous of seeing 
it through all its shifting scenes. 

In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and buffoons I 
was protected by the very vivacity of imagination which had 
led me among them. I moved about enveloped, as it were, in 
a protecting delusion, which my fancy spread around me. I 
assimilated to these people only as they struck me poetically ; 
their whimsical ways and a certain picturesqueness in their 
mode of life entertained me ; but I was neither amused nor cor- 
rupted by their vices. In short, I mingled among them, as 
Prince Hal did among his graceless associates, merely to gratify 
my humor. 

I did not investigate my motives in this manner, at the time, 
for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason about the mat- 
ter ; but I do so now, when I look back with trembhng to thuik 
of the ordeal to which I unthinkingly exposed myself, and the 
manner in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am con- 
vinced, but the poetical temperament, that hurried me into the 
scrape, brought me out of it without my becoming an arrant 
vagabond. 

Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the wild- 
ness of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I capered, I danced, 



108 TALES OF A THAVELLER. 

I played a tiiousraid fantastic tricks about the stage, in the 
villages in which we exhibited; and I was universally pro- 
nounced the most agreeable monster that had ever been seen 
in those parts. My disappearance from school had awakened 
my father's anxiety ; for I one day heard a description of my- 
self cried before the very booth in which I was exliibiting ; with 
the Oiler of a reward for any intelligence of me. I had no great 
scruple about letting my father sutler a little uneasiness on my 
account ; it would punish him for x)ast indifference, and would 
make hun value me the more when he found me again. I have 
wondered that some of my comrades did not recognize in me 
the stray sheep that was cried; but they were all, no doubt, 
occupied by their own concerns. They were all laboring seri- 
ously in their antic vocations, for folly was a mere trade with 
the most of them, and the^^ often grinned and capered with 
heavy hearts. With me, on the contrary, it was all real. I 
acted con amove, and rattled and laughed from the irrepressi- 
ble gayety of my spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started 
and looked grave on receiving a sudden thwack from the 
wooden sword of Harlequin, in the course of my gambols ; as 
it brought to mind the birch of my school-master. But I soon 
got accustomed to it ; and bore all the cuffing, and kicking, and 
tumbling about, that form the practical wit of your itinerant 
pantomime, with a good humor that made me a prodigious 
favorite. 

The country campaign of the troupe was soon at an end, and 
we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs which are 
held in its vicinity. The greater part of our theatrical property 
Y/as sent on direct, to be in a state of preparation for the open- 
ing of the fairs ; wliile a detachment of the company travelled 
slowly on, foraging among the villages. I was amused with 
the desultory, hap-hazard kind of hfe we led; here to-day, and 
gone to-morrow. Sometimes reveUing in ale-houses; some- 
times feasting under hedges in the green fields. When audi- 
ences were crowded and business profitable, we fared well, and 
when otherwise, we fared scantily, and consoled ourselves with 
anticipations of the next day's success. 

At length the inci-easing frequency of coaches hurrying past 
us, covered with passengers; the increasing number of car- 
riages, carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, 
all thronging*the road ; the snug country boxes with trim flower 
gardens twelve feet square, and their trees twelve feet high, 
all powdered with dust; and the innumerable seminaries for 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS: 109 

young ladies and gentlemen, situated along the road, for the 
benelit of country air and rural retirement ; all these insignia 
announced that the mighty London v^as at hand. The hurry, 
and the crowd, and the bustle, arid the noise, and the dust, 
increased as we proceeded, until I saw the great cloud of smoke 
hanging ui the air, like a canopy of state, over this queen of 
cities. 

In tills way, then, did I enter the metropolis; a strolling 
vagabond ; on the top of a caravan with a crew of vagabonds 
about me ; but I was as happy as a prince, for, hke Prince HaJ, 
I felt myself superior to my situation, and knew that I could 
at any time cast it off and emerge into my proper sphere. 

How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde-|:>ark corner, and 
I saw splendid equipages rolling by, with powdered footmen 
behind, m rich liveries, and fine nosegays, and gold-headed 
canes ; and with lovely women within, so sumptuously dressed 
and so surpassingly fair. I w^as alv/ays extremely sensible to 
female beauty; and here I saw it in all its fascination; for, 
whater may be said of "beauty unadorned," there is something 
almost awful in female loveliness decked out in jewelled state. 
The sv/£in-hke neck encircled with diamonds ; the raven locks, 
clustered with pearls ; the ruby glowing on the snowy bosom, 
are objects that I could never contemplate without emotion ; 
and a dazzling white arm clasped with bracelets, and taper 
transparent fingers laden with sparkhng rings, are to me irre- 
sistible. My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly 
beauty that passed before me. It surpassed all that my imagi- 
nation had conceived of the sex. I shrunk, for a moment, into 
shame at the company in which I w^as placed, and repined at 
the vast distance that seemed to intervene betv/een me and 
these magnificent beings. 

I forbear to give a detail of the happy life which I led about 
the skirts of the metropohs, playing at the various fairs, held 
there during the latter part of spring and the beginning of 
summer. This continual change from place to place, and scene 
to scene, fed my imagination mth novelties, and kept my 
spmts in a perpetual state of excitement. 

As I was taU of my age I aspked, at one time, to play heroes 
in tragedy ; but after two or three trials, I w^as pronounced, by 
the manager, totally unfit for the line; and our first tragic 
actress, who was a large woman, and held a small hero in 
abhorrence, confirmed his decision. 

The fact is, I had attempted to give pomt to language which 



110 TALES OF A THAVELLER. 

had no^point, and nature to scenes wliicli had no nature. They 
said I did not fill out my characters ; and they were right. The 
characters had all been prepared for a different sort of man. 
Our tragedy hero was a round, robustious fellow, with an amaz- 
ing voice ; who stamped and slapped his breast until his wig 
shook again ; and who roa.red and bellowed out his bombast, 
until every phrase swelled upon the ear Mke the sound of a 
kettle-drum. I might as well have attempted to fiU out his 
clothes as his characters. When we had a dialogue together, I 
was nothing before him, with my slender voice and discrimin- 
ating manner. I might as well have attempted to parry a 
cudgel with a small sword. If he found me in any way gaining 
ground upon him, he would take refuge in his mighty voice, 
and throw his tones like peals of thunder at me, until they were 
drowned in the still louder thunders of apiplause from the 
audience. 

To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair play, 
and that there was management at the bottom; for without 
vanity, I think I was a better actor than he. As I had not 
embarked in the vagabond line through ambition, I did not 
repine at lack of pref eiinent ; but I was grieved to find that a 
vagrant life was not without its cares and anxieties, and that 
jealousies, intrigues, and mad ambition were to be found even 
among vagabonds. 

Indeed, as I become more famihar with my situation, and 
the delusions of fancy began to fade away, I discovered that 
my associates were not the happy careless creatures I had at 
first imagined them. They were jealous of each other's talents ; 
they quarrelled about parts, the same as the actors on the 
grand theatres ; they quarrelled about dresses ; and there was 
one robe of yeUow silk, trimmed with red, and a head-dress of 
three rumpled ostrich feathers, which were continually setting 
the ladies of the company by the ears. Even those who had 
attained the highest honors were not more happy than the rest ; 
for Mr. Flimsey himself, our first tragedia^n, and apparently 
a jovial, good-humored fellow, confessed to me one day, in 
the fullness of his heart, that he Vv^as a miserable man. He 
had a brother-in-law, a relative by marriage, though not by 
blood, who was mana-ger of a theatre in a small country town. 
And this same brother, ("a little more than kin, but less than 
kind,") looked down upon him, and treated him with con- 
tumely, because forsooth he was but a strolhng player. I 
tried to console him with the thoughts of the vast applause he 



The young man of great expectations, m 

daily received, but it was all in vain. He declared that it gave 
him no delight, and that he should never be a happy man until 
the name of Flimsey rivalled the name of Crunp. 

How Uttle do those before the scenes know of what passes 
behind ; how httle can they judge, from the countenances of 
actors, of what is passing in their hearts. I have known two 
lovers quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, the 
moment after, ready to fly into each other's embraces. And I 
have dreaded, when our Belvidera was to take her farewell kiss 
of her Jaffier, lest she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our 
tragedian was a rough joker off the stage ; our prime clown the 
most peevish mortal Hving. The latter used to go about snap- 
ping and snarling, with a broad laugh painted on his counten- 
ance ; and I can assure you that, whatever may be said of the 
gravity of a monkey, or the melancholy of a gibed cat, there 
is no more melancholy creatirre in existence than a mounte- 
bank off duty. 

The only thing in which all parties agreed was to backbite 
the manager, and cabal against his regulations. This, how- 
ever, I have since discovered to be a common trait of human 
nature, and to take X3lace in all communities. It would seem 
to be the mai*i business of man to repine at government. In 
all situations of life into which I have looked, I have found 
mankind divided into two grand parties ; — those who ride and 
those who are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to be 
which shall keep in the saddle. This, it appears to me, is the 
fundamental principle of politics, whether in great or little 
Mfe. However, I do not mean to moralize; but one cannot 
always sink the philosopher. 

Well, then, to return to myself. It was determined, as I 
said, that I was not fit for tragedy, and unluckily, as my study 
was bad, having a very poor memory, I was pronounced unfit 
for comedy also: besides, the line of young gentlemen was 
already engrossed by an actor with whom I could not jiretend 
to enter into competition, he having filled it for almost half a 
century. I came down again therefore to pantomime. In 
consequence, however, of the good offices of the manager's 
lady, who had taken a liking to me, I was promoted from the 
part of the satyr to that of the lover ; and with my face patched 
and painted, a huge cravat of paper, a steeple-crowned hat, 
and dangling, long-skirted, sky-blue coat, was metamorphosed 
into the lover of Columbine. My part did not call for much of 
the tender and sentimental. I ha,d merely to pursue the fugi- 



112 TALES OF A TRA VELLEE. 

tive fair one ; to have a door now and then slammed in my 
face ; to run my head occasionally against a post ; to tumble 
and roll about with Pantaloon and the clown ; and to endure 
the hearty thwacks of Harlequin's wooden sword. 

As ill luck would have it, my poetical temperament began to 
ferment within me, and to work out new troubles. The 
infiaminatory air of a great metropolis added to the rural 
scenes in which the fairs were held ; such as Greenwich Park ; 
Epping Forest ; and the lovely valley of the West End, had a 
powerful effect upon me. While in Greenwich Park I was 
witness to the old holiday games of running down hill ; and 
kissing in the ring ; and then the firmament of blooming faces 
and blue eyes that would be turned towards me as I was play- 
ing antics on the stage; all these set my young blood, and my 
poetical vein, in full flow. In short, I played my character to 
the life, and became desperately enamored of Columbine. She 
was a trim, well-made, tempting girl, with a rougish, dimpling 
face, and fine cliesnut hair clustering all about it. The moment 
I got fairly smitten, there was an end to all playing. I was 
such a creature of fancy and feeling that I could not put on a 
pretended, when I was powerfully affected by a real emotion. 
I could not sport with a fiction that came so near to the fact. 
I became too natural in my acting to succeed. And then, what 
a situation for a lover ! I was a mere striphng, and she played 
with my passion ; for girls soon grow more adroit and knowing 
in these tha.n your awkwa,rd youngsters. What agonies had I 
to suffer. Every time that she danced in front of the booth 
and m.ade such liberal displays of her charms, I was in tor- 
ment. To complete my misery, I had a real rival in Harlequin ; 
an active, vigorous, knowing varlet of six-and-twenty. What 
had a raw, inexperienced youngster like me to hope from such 
a competition? 

I had still, however, some advantages in my favor. In spite 
of my change of life, I retained that indescribable something 
whicli always distinguishes the gentleman; that something 
which dwells in a man's air and deportment, and not in his 
clothes ; and wliich it is as difficult for a gentleman to put off 
as for a vulgar fellow to put on. The company generally felt 
it, and used to call me little gentleman Jack. The girl felt it 
too ; and in spite of her predilection for my powerful rival, she 
liked to flirt with me. This only aggravated my troubles, by 
increasing my passion, and awakenimg the jealousy of her 
parti-colored lover. 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. H^ 

Alas ! tliink what I suffered, at being obliged to keep up an 
ineffectual cliase after my Columbine through whole panto- 
mines ; to see her carried off in the vigorous arms of the happy- 
Harlequin; and to be obhged, instead of snatching her from 
him, to tumble sprawling with Pantaloon and the clown ; and 
bear the infernal and degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon 
of lath ; which, may heaven confound him ! (excuse my pas- 
sion) the villain laid on with a malicious good-v\^ill ; nay, I 
could absolutely hear him chuckle and laugh beneath his 
accursed mask — I beg pardon for growing a little warm in my 
narration. I wish to be cool, but these recollections will some- 
times agitate me. I ha,ve heard and read of many desperate 
and deplorable situations of levers ; but none, I think, in which 
true love was ever exposed to so severe and peculiar a trial. 

This could not last long. Flesh and blood, at least such flesh 
and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had repeated heart- 
burnings and quarrels with my rival, in which he treated me 
with the mortifying forbearance of a man towards a child. 
Had he quarrelled outright with me, I could ha.ve stomached 
it ; at least I should have known what part to take ; but to be 
humored and treated as a child in the presence of my mistress, 
when I felt all the bantam spirit of a little man swelling within 
me — gods, it was insufferable ! 

At length we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, 
which -was at that tune a very fashionable resort, and often 
beleaguered by gay equipages from town. Among the spec- 
tators that filled the front row of our httJe canvas theatre one 
afternoon, when I had to figure in a pantomine, was a party of 
young ladies from a boarding-school, with their governess. 
Guess my confusion, when, in the midst of my antics, I beheld 
among the number my quondam flame; her whom I had 
be-rhymed at school ; her for whose charms I had smarted so 
severely; the cruel Sacharissa! What was worse, I fancied 
she recollected me ; and was repeating the story of my hmnilat- 
ing flagellation, for I saw her whispering her companions and 
her governess. I lost all consciousness of the part I was acting, 
and of the place where I was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and 
could have crept into a rat-hole — unluckily, none was open to 
receive me. Before I could recover from my confusion, I was 
tumbled over by Pantaloon and the clown ; and I felt the sword 
of Harlequin making vigorous assaults, in a manner most 
degrading to my dignity. 

Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyrdom in this 



114 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

ignominious manner, in the knowledge, and even before tho 
very eyes of this most beautiful, but most disdainful of fair 
ones ? All my long-smothered wrath broke out at once ; the 
dormant feelings of the gentlema.n arose within me ; stung to 
the quick by intolerable mortification, I sprang on my feet in 
an instant ; leaped upon Harlequin like a young tiger ; tore off 
his mask ; buffeted him in the face, and soon shed more blood 
on the stage than had been spilt upon it during a whole tragic 
camijaign of battles and murders. 

Aq soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise he returned 
my assault with interest. I was nothing in his hands. I was 
game to be sure, for I was a gentleman ; but he had the clown- 
ish advantages of bone and mxuscle. I felt as if I could have 
fought even linto the death ; and I was likely to do so ; for he 
was, according to the vulgar phrase, ''putting my head into 
Chancery," when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. 
God bless the women ; they are always on the side of the weak 
and the oppressed. 

The battle now became general ; the dramatis personae ranged 
on either side. The manager interfered in vain. In vain 
were his spangled black bonnet and towering white feathers 
seen whisking about, and nodding, and bobbing, in the thickest 
of the fight. Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, 
gods and goddesses, all joined pell-mell in the fray. Never, 
since the conflict under the walls of Troy, had there been such 
a chance medley warfare of combatants, human and divine. 
The audience ax)plauded, the ladies shrieked and fled from the 
theatre, and a scene of discord ensued that baffles all descrip- 
tion. 

Nothing but the interference of the peace officers restored 
some degree of order. The havoc, however, that had been 
made among dresses and decorations put an end to all farther 
acting for th?ct day. The battle over, the next thing was to 
inquire why it was begu^ ; a common question among poli- 
ticians, after a bloody and unprofitable war ; and one not always 
easy to be ansv/ered. It was soon traced to me, and my unac- 
countable transport of passion, which they could only attribute 
to my having run a muck. The manager was judge and jury, 
and plaintiff in the bargain, and in such cases justice is always 
speedily administered. He came out of the fight as sublime a 
wreck as the Santissima Trinidada. His gallant plumes, which 
once towered aloft, were drooping about his ears. His robe of 
state hung in ribbands from his back, and but ill conceived the 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 115 

ravages he had suffered in the rear. He had received kicks 
and cuffs from aU sides, during the tumult ; for every one took 
the opportunity of slyly gratifying some lurking grudge on his 
fat carcass. He was a discreet man, and did not choose to 
declare war with all his company; so he swore all those kicks 
and cuffs had been given by me, and I let him enjoy the opin- 
ion. Some wounds he bore, however, wliich were the incontes- 
tible traces of a woman's warfare. His sleek rosy cheek was 
scored by trickhng furrows, which were ascribed to the nails 
of my intrepid and devoted Columbine. The ire of the mon- 
arch was not to be appeased. He had suffered in his person, 
and he had suffered in his purse; his dignity too had been 
insulted, and that went for something ; for dignity is always 
more irascible the more petty the potentate. He vfreaked his 
wrath upon the beginners of the affray, and Columbine and 
myself were discharged, at once, from the company. 

Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of little more than 
sixteen ; a gentleman by birth ; a vaga.bond by trade ; turned 
adrift upon the world ; making the best of my way through 
the crowd of West End fair; my mountebank dress fluttering 
in rags about me; the weepmg Columbine hanging upon my 
arm, in splendid, but tattered finery; the tears coursing one 
by one down her face ; carrying off the red paint in torrents, 
and literally "preying upon her damask cheek." 

The crowd made way for us as we passed and hooted in our 
rear. I felt the ridicule of my situation, but had too much 
gallantry to desert this fair one, who had sacrificed everything 
for me. Ha vmg wandered through the fair, we emerged, Hke 
another Adam and Eve, into unknown regions, and "had the 
world before us where to choose." Never was a more disconso- 
late pair seen in the soft valley of West End. The luckless 
Columbine cast back many a fingering look at the fair, which 
seemed to put on a more than usual splendor ; its tents, and 
booths, and parti-colored groups, ail brightening in the sun- 
shine, and gleaming among the trees; and its gay flags and 
streamers playing and fluttering in the fight summer airs. 
With a heavy sigh she would lean on my arm and proceed. I 
had no hope or consolation to give her ; but she had linked her- 
self to my f ortmies, and she was too much of a woman to 
desert me. 

Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beautiful fields 
that he behind Hempstead, and wandered on, until the fiddle, 
and the hautboy, and the shout, and the laugh, were swallowed 



116 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

up in the deep sound of tlie big bass drum, and even that died 
a^vay into a distant rumble. We passed along the pleasant 
sequestered walk of Nightingale lane. For a pair of lovers 
what scene could be more propitious? — But such a pair of 
lovers ! Not a nightingale sang to soothe us : the very gypsies 
who were encamped there during the fair, made no offer to tell 
the fortunes of such an ill-omened couple, whose fortunes, I 
suppose, they thought too legibly written to need an inter- 
preter ; and the gypsey children crawled into their cabins and 
peeped out fearf idly at us as we went by. For a moment I 
paused, and was almost tempted to turn gypsey, but the poet- 
ical feeling for the present was fully satisfied, and I passed on. 
Thus we travelled, and travelled, like a prince and princess in 
nursery chronicle, until we had traversed a part of Hempstead 
Heath and arrived in the vicinity of Jack Straw's castle. 

Here, wearied and dispirited, we seated ourselves on the 
margin of the hill, hard by the very mile-stone where Whitting- 
ton of yore heard the Bow bells ring out the presage of his 
future greatness. Alas ! no bell rung in invitation to us, as we 
looked disconsolately upon the distant city. Old London 
seemed to wrap itself up unsociably in its mantle of brown 
smoke, and to offer no encouragement to such a couple of 
tatterdemalions. 

For once, at least, the usual course of the pantomime was 
reversed. Harlequin was jilted, and the lover had carried off 
Columbine in good earnest. But what was I to do with her? 
I had never contemplated such a dilemma ; and I now felt that 
even a fortunate lover may be embarrassed by his good for- 
tune. I really knew not what was to become of me ; for I had 
still the boyish fear of returning home; standing in awe of the 
stern temper of my father, and dreading the ready arm of the 
pedagogue. And even if I were to venture home, what was I 
to do with Columbine? I could not take her in my hand, and 
throw myself on my knees, and crave his forgiveness and his 
blessing according to dramatic usage. The very dogs would 
have chased such a draggle-tailed beauty from the grounds. 

In the midst of my doleful dumps, some orio tapped me on 
the shoulder, and looking up I saw a couple of rough sturdy 
fellows standing behind me. Not knowing what to expect I 
jumped on my legs, and was preparing again to make battle ; 
but I was tripped up and secured in a tv.dnkling. 

"Come, come, young master," said one of the fellows in a 
gruff, but good-humored tone, "don't let's have any of your 



TJIE YOUNG 3rAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 117 

tantiiims ; one would have thought that you had had swing 
enough for this bout. Come, it's high time to leave off harle- 
quinadiiig, and go home to your father." 

In fact I had a couple of Bow street officers hold of me. The 
cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I was, and that a reward 
had been ottered throughout the country for any tidings of me ; 
and they had seen a description of me that had been forwarded 
to the police office in town. Those harpies, therefoi"e, for the 
mere sake of filthy lucre, were resolved to deliver me over into 
the hands of my father and the clutches of my pedagogue. 

It was in vain that I swore I would not leave my faithf id and 
afflicted Columbire. It v/as in vain that I tore myself from 
their grasp, and flew to her ; and vowed to protect her ; and 
wiped the tears from her cheek, and with them a whole blush 
that might have vied with the carnation for brilliancy. My 
persecutors were inflexible ; they even seemed to exult in our 
distress ; and to enjoy this theatrical display of dirt, and finery, 
and tribulation. I was carried off in despair, leaving my 
Columbme destitute in the wide world; but many a look of 
agony did I cast back at her, as she stood gazing piteously after 
me from the brink of Hempstead Hill ; so forlorn, so fine, so 
ragged, so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 

Thus ended my first peep into the world. I returned home, 
rich in good-for-nothing experience, and dreading the reward I 
was to receive for my improvement. My reception, however, 
was quite different from what I had expected. My father had 
a spice of the devfl in him, and did not seem to like me the 
worse for my freak, which he termed " sowing my wild oats." 
He happened to have several of his sporting friends to dine 
with hhii the very day of my return ; they made me teU some 
of my adventures, and laughed heartily at them. One old fel- 
low, with an outrageously red nose, took to me hugely. I 
heard him whisper to my father that I was a lad of mettle, and 
might make sometliing clever; to which my father replied that 
"I had good points, but was an ill-broken whelp, and required 
a great deal of the whip." Perhaps this very conversation 
raised me a little in his esteem, for I found the red-nosed old 
gentleman was a veteran fox- hunter of the neighborhood, for 
whose opinion my father had vast deference. Indeed, I beheve 
he woifld have pardoned anything in' me more readfly than 
poetry; wliich he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, house- 
keeping employment, the bane of all true manhood. He swore 
it was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, who was 



118 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

one day to have so great an estate, and would be able to keep 
horses and hounds and hire poets to write songs for hiin into 
the bargain. 

I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving propensity. I had 
exhausted the poetical feeling. I had been heartily buffeted 
out of my love for theatrical display. I felt humiliated by my 
exposure, and was willing to hide my head anywhere for a 
season ; so that I might be out of the way of the ridicule of the 
world ; for I found folks not altogether so indulgent abroad as 
they were at my father's table. I could not stay at home ; the 
house was intolerably doleful now that my mother was no longer 
there to cherish me. Every thing around spoke mournfully .of 
her. The little flower-garden in wliich she dehghted was all in 
disorder and overrun with weeds. I attempted, for a day or 
two, to arrange it, but my heart grew heavier and lieavier as I 
labored. Every little broken-down flower that I had seen her 
rear so tenderly, seemed to plead in mute eloquence to my 
feehngs. There was a favorite honeysuckle which I had seen 
her often training with assiduity, and had heard her say it 
should be the pride of her garden. I found it grovelling along 
the ground, tangled and wild, and twining round every worth- 
less weed, and it struck me as an emblem of myself : a mere 
scatterling, running to waste and uselessness. I could work.no 
longer in the garden. 

My father sent me to pay a visit to my uncle, by way of 
keeping the old gentleman in mind of me. I was received, as 
usual, without any expression of discontent ; which we always 
considered equivalent to a hearty welcome. Whether he had 
ever heard of my strolling freak or not I could not discover ; he 
and his man were both so taciturn. I spent a day or two 
roaming about the dreary mansion and neglected park ; and 
felt at one time, I believe, a touch of poetry, for I was tempted 
to drown myself in a fish-pond; I rebuked the evil spirit, how- 
ever, and it left me. I found the same red-headed boy running 
■wild about the park, but I felt in no humor to hunt him at 
present. On the contrary, I tried to coax him to me, and to 
make friends with him, but the young savage was untameable. 

When I returned from my uncle's I remained at home for 
some time, for my father was disposed, he said, to make a man 
of me. He took me out hunting with him, and I became a 
great favorite of the red-nosed squire, because I rode at every- 
thing ; never refused the boldest leap, and was always sure to 
be in at the death. I used often, however, to offend my father 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 119 

at hunting dinners, by taking the wrong side in pohtics. My 
father was amazingly ignorant— so ignorant, in fact, as not to 
know that he knew nothing. He was staunch, however, to 
church and king, and full of old-fashioned prejudices. Now, I 
had picked up a little knowledge in pohtics and rehgion, during 
my rambles with the strollers, and found myself capable of set- 
ting him right as to many of his antiquated notions. I felt it 
my duty to do so ; we were apt, therefore, to differ occasionally 
in the political discussions that sometimes arose at these hunt- 
ing dinners. 

I was at that age when a man knows least and is most vain 
of his knowledge ; and when he is extremely tenacious in defend- 
ing his opinion upon subjects about which he knows nothing. 
My father was a hard man for any one to argue with, for he 
never knew when he was refuted. I sometimes posed hun a 
httle, but then he had one argTiment that always settled the 
question ; he would threaten to knock me down. I believe he 
at last grew tired of me, because I both out-talked and outrode 
him. The red-nosed squire, too, got out of conceit of me, be- 
cause in the heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as he 
and his horse lay sprawling in the dirt. My father, therefore, 
thought it high time to send me to college ; and accordingly to 
Trinity College at Oxford was I sent. 

I had lost my habits of study while at home ; and I was not 
likely to find them again at college. I found that study was 
not the fashion at college, and that a lad of spirit only ate his 
terms ; and grew wise by dint of knife and fork. I Avas always 
prone to follow the fashions of the company into which I fell; 
so I threw by my books, and became a man of spirit. As my 
father made me a tolerable allowance, notwithstanding the 
narrowness of his income, having an eye always to my great 
expectations, I was enabled to appear to advantage among my 
fellow-students. I cultivated all kinds of sports and. exercises. 
I was one of the most expert oarsmen that rowed on the Isis. 
T. boxed and fenced. I was a keen huntsman, and my chambers 
in college were always decorated with whips of all kinds, spurs, 
foils, and boxing gloves. A pair of leather breeches would 
seem to be throwing one leg out of the half -open drawers, and 
empty bottles lumbered the bottom of eve^^y closet. 

I soon grew tired of this, and relapsed into my vein of mere 
poetical indulgence. I was charmed with Oxford, for it was 
full of poetry to me. I thought I should never grow tired of 
wandering about its courts and cloisters ; and visitins: the dif- 



120 TALES OP A TRAVELLEH. 

ferent college halls. I used to love to get in places surrounded 
by the colleges, where all modern buildings were screened from 
the sight ; and to walk about them in twilight, and see the pro- 
fessors and students sweeping along in the dusk in their caps 
and gowns. There was complete delusion in the scene. It 
seemed to transport me among the edifices and the people of 
old times. It was a great luxury, too, for me to attend the 
evening service in the new college chapel, and to hear the fine 
organ and the choir swelling an anthem in that solemn build- 
ing ; where painting and inusic and architecture seem to com- 
bine their grandest effects. 

I became a loiterer, also, about the Bodleian library, and a 
great dipper into books; but too idle to follow any course of 
study or vein of research. One of my favorite haunts was the 
beautiful walk, bordered by lofty elms, along the Isis, under 
the old gray walls of Magdalen College, which goes by the 
name of Addison's Walk ; and was his resort when a student 
at the college. I used to take a volume of poetry in my hand, 
and stroll up and down this walk for hours. 

My father came to see me at college. Pie asked me how I 
came on with my studies ; and what kind of hunting there was 
in the neighborhood. He examined my sporting apparatus; 
wanted to know if any of the professors were fox-hunters ; and 
whether they were generally good shots ; for he suspected this 
reading so much was rather hurtful to the sight. Such was the 
only person to whom I was responsible for my improvement : 
is it matter of wonder, therefore, that I became a confirmed 
idler? 

I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long without 
getting in love. I became deeply smitten with a shopkeeper's 
daughter in the high street ; who in fact was tlie admiration of 
many of the students. I wrote several sonnets in praise of her, 
and spent half of my pocket-money at the shop, in buying arti- 
cles which I did not want, that I might have an opportunity of 
speaking to her. Her father, a severe-looking old gentleman, 
with blight silver buckles and a crisp, curled wig, kept a strict 
guard on her ; as the fathers generally do upon their daughters 
in Oxford ; and well they may. I tried to get into his good 
graces, and to be sociable with him; but in vain. I said several 
good things in his shop, but he never laughed ; he had no relish 
for wit and humor. He was one of those dry old gentlemen 
who keep youngsters at bay. He had already brought up two 
or three daughters, and was experienced in the wavs of students. 



TUE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 121 

He was as knowing and waiy as a gray old badger that has 
often been hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and starched 
in his demeanor ; so precise in his dress ; with his daughter under 
his arm, and his ivory-headed cane in his hand, was enough to 
deter all graceless youngsters from approaching. 
• I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to have several 
conversations with the daughter, as I cheapened articles in the 
shop. I made terrible long bargains, and examined the articles 
over and over, before I purchased. In the meantime, I would 
convey a sonnet or an acrostic under cover of a piece of cam- 
bric, or shpped into a pair of stockings ; I would whisper soft 
nonsense into her ear as I haggled a^bout the price ; and would 
squeeze her hand tenderly as I received my halfpence of change, 
in a bit of whity-brown paper. Let this serve as a hint to all 
haberdashers, who have pretty daughters for shop-girls, and 
young students for customers. I do not know whether my 
words and looks were very eloquent ; but my poetry was irre- 
sistible ; for, to tell the truth, the girl had some literary taste, 
and was seldom without a book from the circulating library. 

By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is irresistible 
with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of this fair little 
haberdasher. We carried on a sentimental correspondence for 
a time across the counter, and I supphed her with rhyme by 
the stockingful. At length I prevailed on her to grant me an 
assignation. But how was it to be effected? Her father kept 
her always under his eye ; she never walked out alone ; and the 
house v/as locked up the moment that the shop was shut. All 
these difficulties served but to give zest to the adventure. I 
proposed that the assignation should be in her own chamber, 
into which I would chmb at night. The plan was irresistible. 
A cruel father, a secret lover, and a clandestine meeting ! All 
the little girl's studies from the circulating library seemed about 
to be realized. But what had I in view in making this assigna- 
tion? Indeed I know not. I had no evil intentions; nor can I 
say that I had any good ones. I liked the girl, and wanted to 
have an opportunity of seeing more of her ; and the assignation 
Yv^as made, as I have done many things else, heedlessly and 
without forethought. I asked myself a few questions of the 
kind, after aU my arrangements were made ; but the answers 
were very unsatisfactory. ' ' Am I to ruin this poor thoughtless 
girl?" said I to myself. "No!" was the prompt and indignant 
answer. "Am I to rim away with her?" "Whither — and to 
what purpose?" "Well, then, am I to marry her?" — " Pah! a 



222 TALES OF A TEAVELLKR. - |M 

man of my expectations marr:^ a shopkeeper's daughter!" 

"What, then, am I to do with her?" " Hum— why. Let me 

get into her chamber first, and then consider "—and so the self- 
examination ended. 

Well, sir, " come what come might," I stole under cover of 
the darkness to the dwelling of my dulcinea. All was quiet. 
At the concerted signal her window was gently opened. It was 
just above the projecting bow-window of her father's shop, 
which assisted me in mounting. The house was low, and I was 
enabled to scale the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered 
with a beating heart; I reached the casement; I hoisted my 
body half into the chamber and was welcomed, not by the 
embraces of my expecting fair one, but by the grasp of the 
crabbed-looking old father in the crisp curled wig. 

I extricated myself from his clutches and endeavored to 
make my retreat; but I was confounded by his cries of 
thieves! and robbers! I was bothered, too, by his Sunday 
cane; which was amazingly busy about my head as I de- 
scended ; and against which my hat was but a poor protec- 
tion. Never before had I an idea of the activity of an old 
man's arm, and hardness of the knob of an ivory-headed cane. 
In my hurry and confusion I missed my footing, and feU 
sprawling on the pavement. I was immediately surrounded 
by myrmidons, Avho I doubt not were on the watch for me. 
Indeed, I was in no situation to escape, for I had sprained my 
ankle in the fall, and could not stand. I was seized as a house- 
breaker ; and to exonerate myself from a greater crime I had 
to accuse myself of a less. I made known who I was, and why 
I came there. Alas! the varlets knew it already, and were 
only amusing themselves at my expense. My perfidious muse 
had been playing me one of her slippery tricks. The old cur- 
mudgeon of a father had found my sonnets and acrostics hid 
away in holes and corners of his shop; he had no taste for 
I>oetry like his daughter, and had instituted a rigorous though 
silent observation. He had moused upon our letters ; detected 
the ladder of ropes, and prepared everything for my reception. 
Thus was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the muse. 
Let no man henceforth carry on a secret amour in poetry. 

The old man's ire was in some measure appeased by the pum- 
melling of my head, and the anguish of my sprain ; so he did 
not put me to death on the spot. He was even humane enough 
to furnish a shutter, on which I was carried back to the college 
like a wounded warrior. The j)orter was roused to admit me ; 



THE TOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 123 

the college gate was thrown op^n for my entry ; the affair was 
blazed abroad the next morning, and became the joke of the 
college from the buttery to the hall. 

I had leisure to repent during several weeks' confinement by 
my sprain, which I passed in translating Boethius' Consola- 
tions of Pliilosophy. I received a most tender and ill-spelled 
letter from my mistress, who had been sent to a relation in 
Coventry. She protested her innocence of my misfortunes, 
and vowed to be true to me "till death." I took no notice of 
the letter, for I was cured, for the present, both of love and 
poetry. Women, however, are more constant in their attach- 
ments than men, whatever philosophers may say to the con- 
trary. I am assured that she actually remained faithful to her 
vow for several months ; but she had to deal with a cruel father 
whose heart was as hard as the knob of his cane. He was not 
to be touched by tears or poetry ; but absolutely compelled her 
to marry a reputable young tradesman ; who made her a happy 
woman in spite of herself, and of all the rules of romance ; and 
what is more, the mother of several children. They are at this 
very day a thriving couple and keep a snug corner shop, just 
opposite the figure of Peeping Tom at Coventry. 

I will not fatigue you by any more details of my studies at 
Oxford, though they were not always as severe as these ; nor 
did I always pay as dear for my lessons. People may say what 
they please, a studious life has its charms, and there are many 
places more gloomy than the cloisters of a university. 

To be brief, then, I lived on in my usual miscellaneous manner, 
gradually getting a knowledge of good and evil, until I had at- 
tained my twenty-first year. I had scarcely come of age when 
I heard of the sddden death of my father. The shock was se- 
vere, for though he had never treated me with kindness, still 
he was my father, and at his death I felt myself alone in the 
world. 

I returned home to act as chief mourner at his fimeral. It 
was attended by many of the sportsmen of the country ; for he 
was an important member of their fraternity. According to 
his request his favorite hunter was led after the hearse. The 
red-nosed fox-hunter, who had taken a httle too much wine at 
the house, made a maudhn eulogy of the deceased, and wished 
to give the view halloo over the grave ; but he was rebuked by 
the rest of the company. They all shook me kindly by the 
hand, said many consolatory tilings to me, and invited me to 
become a member of the hunt in my father's place. 



124 TALES OF A TEAYELLEB. 

When I found myself alone in Pny paternal home, a crowd of 
gloomy feelings came thronging upon me. It was a place that 
always seemed to sober me, and bring me to reflection. Now, 
especially, it looked so deserted and melancholy ; the furniture 
dii:aaced about the room ; the chairs in groups, as their departed 
occupants had sat, either in Y/hispering tete-a-tetes, or gossip- 
ing clusters ; the bottles and decanters and wine-glasses, half 
emptied, and scattered about the tables— all dreary traces of a 
funeral festival. I entered the little breakfasting room. There 
were my father's whip and spurs hanging by the fire-place, and 
his favorite pointer lying on the hearth-rug. The poor animal 
came fondhng about me, and licked my hand, though he had 
never before noticed me ; and then he looked round the room, 
and whined, and wagged his tail shghtly, and gazed wistfully 
in my face. I felt the full force of the appeal. "Poor Dash!" 
said I, "we are both alone in the world, with nobody to care 
for us, and we'll take care of one another." The dog never 
quitted me afterwards. 

I could not go into my mother's room: my heart swelled 
when I passed within sight of the door. Her portrait hung in 
the parlor, just over the place where she used to sit. As I cast 
my eyes on it I thought it looked at me with tendei'ness, and I 
burst into tears. My heart had long been seared by living in 
pubhc schools, and buffeting about among strangers who cared 
nothing for me ; but the recollection of a mother's tenderness 
was overcoming. 

I was not of an age or a temperament to be long depressed. 
There was a reaction in my system that always brought me up 
again at every pressure ; and indeed my spirits were most buoy- 
ant after a temporary prostration. I settled the concerns of the 
estate as soon as possible; realized my property, which was 
not very considerable, but which appeared a vast deal to me, 
having a poetical eye that magnified everything ; and finding 
myself, at the end of a. few months, free of all farther business 
or restraint, I determined to go to London and enjoy myself. 
Why should not I? — I was young, animated, joyous; had 
plenty of funds for present pleasures, and my uncle's estate in 
the perspective. Let those mope at college and pore over books, 
thought I, who have fcheir way to make in the world ; it would 
be ridiculous drudgery in a 3- outh of my expectations. 

Well, sir, away to London I rattled* in a tandem, determined 
to take the town gaily. I passed through several of the villages 
where I had played the jack-pudding a few years before ; and 



TilE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. ,125 

I visited the scenes of many of my adventures and follies, 
merely from that feeling of melancholy pleasure which we have 
in steppmg again into the footprints of foregone existence, even 
when they have passed among weeds and briars. I made a 
circuit in the latter part of my journey, so as to take in West 
Encl and Hempstead, the scenes of my last dramatic exploit, 
and of the battle royal of the booth. As I drove along the 
ridge of Hempstead Hill, by Jack Straw's castle, I paused at 
the spot v^here Columbine and I had sat down so disconsolately 
in our ragged finery, and looked dubiously upon London. I 
almost expected to see her again, standing on the hill's brink, 
"like Niobe all tears ;"— mournful as Babylon in iniins ! 

" Poor Columbine !" said I, with a heavy sigh, "thou wert a 
gallant, generous girl— a true woman, faithful to the dis- 
tressed, and ready to sacrifice thyseK in the cause of worthless 
man !" 

I tried to whistle off the recollection of her ; for there was 
always something of self-reproach with it. I drove gayly along 
the road, enjoying the stare of hostlers and stable-boys as I 
managed my horses knowingly down the steep street of Hemp- 
stead ; when, just at the skirts of the village, one of the traces 
of my leader came loose. I pulled up ; and as the animal was 
restive and my servant a bungler, I called for assistance to the 
robustious master of a snug ale-house, who stood at his door 
with a tankard in his hand. He came readily to assist me, 
followed by his wife, with her bosom half open, a child in her 
arms, and two more at her heels. I stared for a moment as if 
doubting my eyes. I could not be mistaken ; in the fat, beer- 
blown landlord of the ale-house I recognized my old rival Har- 
lequin, and in his slattern spouse, the once trim and dimpHng 
Columbine. 

The change of my looks, from youth to manhood, and the 
change of my circumstances, prevented them from recognizing 
me. They could not suspect, in the dashing young buck, fash- 
ionably dressed, and driving his own equipage, their former 
comrade, the painted beau, with old peaked hat and long, 
flimsy, sky-blue coat. My heart yearned with kindness to- 
wards Columbine, and I was glad to see her establishment a 
thriving one. As soon as the harness was adjusted, I tossed 
a small purse of gold into her ample bosom; and then, pre- 
tending give my horses a hearty cut of the whip, I. made the 
lash curl with a whistling about the sleek sides of ancient 
Harlequin. The horses dashed off hke hghtning, and I was 



126 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

whirled out of sight, before either of the parties could get over 
their surprise at my liberal donations. I have always consid- 
ered this as one of the greatest proofs of my poetical genius. 
It v/as distributing poetical justice in perfection. 

I now entered London en cavalier, and became a blood upon 
town. I took fashionable lodgings in the West End ; employed 
the first tailor ; frequented the regular lounges ; gambled a lit- 
tle ; lost my money good-humoredly, and gained a number of 
fashionable good-for-nothing acquaintances. Had I liad more 
industry and ambition in my nature, I might have worked my 
way to the very height of fashion, as I saw many laborious 
gentlemen doing around me. But it is a toilsome, an anxious, 
and an unhappy hfe; there are few beings so sleepless and 
miserable as your cultivators of fashionable smiles. 

I was quite content with that kind of society which forms the 
frontiers of fasliion, and may be easily taken possession of. I 
found it a light, easy, productive soil. I had but to go about 
and sow visiting cards, and I reaped a whole harvest of invita- 
tions. Indeed, my figure and address were by no means against 
me. It was whispered, too, among the young ladies, that I 
was prodigiously clever, and wrote poetry ; and the old ladies 
had aocertained that I was a young gentleman of good family, 
handsome fortune, and "great expectations." 

I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so intoxi- 
cating to a young man ; and which a man of poetical tempera- 
ment enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it. That rapid 
variety of sensations ; that whirl of briUiant objects ; that suc- 
cession of pungent pleasures. I had no time for thought ; I only 
felt. I never attempted to write poetry ; my poetry seemed all 
to go off by transpiration. I lived poetry ; it was aU a poetical 
dream to me. A mere sensualist knows nothing of the dehghts 
of a splendid metropolis. He lives in a round of animal grati- 
fications and heartless habits. But to a young man of poetical 
feehngs it is an ideal world ; a scene of enchantment and de- 
lusion ; his unagination is in perpetual excitement, and gives a 
spiritual zest to every pleasure. 

A season of town life somewhat sobered me of my intoxica- 
tion ; or rather I v/as rendered more serious by one of my old 
complaints— I fell in love. It was with a very pretty, though 
a very haughty fair one, who had come to London under the 
care of an old maiden aunt, to enjoy the plea^sures of a winter 
in town, and to get married. There was not a doubt of her 
commanding a choice of lovers ; for she had long been the belle 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 127 

of a little cathedral town ; and one of the prebendaries had ab- 
solutely celebrated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. 

I paid my court to her, and was favorably received both by 
her and her aunt. Nay, I had a marked preference shown me 
over the younger son of a needy ba^ronet, and a captain of dra- 
goons on half pay. I did not absolutely take the field iw form, 
for I was determined not to be pecipitate; but I drove my 
equipage frequently through the street in which she hved, and 
was always sure to see her at the window, generally with a 
book in her hand. I resumed my knack at rhyming, and 
sent her a long copy of verses ; anonymously to be sure ; but 
she knew my handwriting. They displayed, however, the 
most delightful ignorance on the subject. The young lady 
showed them to me ; wondered who they could be written by ; 
and declared there was nothing in this world she loved so 
much as poetry : while the maiden aunt would put her pinch- 
ing spectacles on her nose, and read them, with blunders in 
sense and sound, that were excruciating to an author's ears; 
protesting there was nothing equal to them in the whole elegant 
extracts. 

The fasliionable season closed without my adventuring to 
make a declaration, though I certainly had encouragement. I 
was not perfectly sure that I had effected a lodgment in the 
young lady's heart ; and, to tell the truth, the aunt overdid her 
part, and was a little too extravagant in her liking of me. I 
knew that maiden aunts were not apt to be cai)tivated by the 
mere personal merits of their nieces' admirers, and I v/anted to 
ascertain how much of all this favor I owed to my driving an 
equipage and having great expectations. 

I had received many hints how charming their native town 
was during the summer months; what pleasant society they 
had ; and what beautiful drives about the neighborhood. They 
had not, therefore, return-ed home long, before I made my 
appearance in dasliing style, driving down the principal street. 
It is an easy thing to put a little quiet cathedral town in a buzz. 
The very next morning I was seen at prayers, seated in the pew 
of the reigning belle. All the congregation was in a flutter. 
The prebends eyed me from their stalls ; questions were wliis- 
pered about the isles after service, "who is he?" and " what is 
he?" and the replies were as usual— "A young gentleman of 
good family and fortune, and great expectations." 

I was pleased with the peculiarities of a cathedral town, 
where I found I was a- personage of some consequence. I was 



128 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

quite a brilliant acquisition to the young ladies of the cathedral 
circle, who were glad to have a beau that was not in a black 
coat and clerical wig. You must knovv that there was a vast 
distinction between the classes of society of the town. As it 
was a plpvce of some trade, there were many wealthy inhabitants 
among the commercial and manufacturing classes, who lived 
in ^tyle and gave many entertainments. Nothing of trade, 
however, was admitted into the cathedral circle — faugh! the 
thing could not be thought of. The cathedral circle, therefore, 
was apt to be very select, very dignified, and very dull. They 
had evening parties, at wliich the old ladies played cards with 
the prebends, and the young ladies sat and looked on, and 
shifted from one chair to another about the room, until it was 
time to go home. 

It was difficult to get up a ball, from the want of partners, the 
cathedral circle being very deficient in dancers ; and on those 
occasions, there was an occasional drafting among the dancing 
men of the other circle, Vv^ho, however, were generally regarded 
with great reserve and condescension by the gentlemen in 
powdered wigs. Several of the young ladies assured me, in 
confidence, that they had often looked with a wistful eye at 
the gayety of the other circle, where there was such plenty of 
young beaux, and where they all seemed to enjoy themselves 
so merrily; but that it would be degradation to tliink of 
descending from their sphere. 

I admired the degree of old-fashioned ceremony and super- 
annuated courtesy that prevailed in this little place. The bow- 
ings and courtseyings that would take place about the cathedral 
porch after morning service, where knots of old gentlemen and 
ladies would collect together to ask after each other's health, 
and settle the card party for the evening. The little presents 
of fruits and delicacies, and the thousand, petty messages that 
would pass from house to house ; for in a tranquil community 
hke this, living entirely at ease, and having little to do, little 
duties and little civilities and little p^musGrnents, fill up tlie day. 
I have smiled, as I looked from my window on a quiet street 
near the cathedral, in the middle of a warm summer day, to see 
a corpulent powdered footman in rich livery, carrying a small 
tart on a large silver salver. A dainty titbit, sent, no doubt, by 
some worthy old dowager, to top off the dinner of hei- favorite 
prebend. 

Notliing could be more delectable, also, than the breaking up 
of one of their evening card parties. Such shaking: of hands; 



THE YOUNG MAN OF GllEAT EXPECTATIONS. 129 

such mobbing up in cloaks and tippets ! There were two or 
three old sedan chairs that did the duty of the whole place ; 
though the greater part made their exit in clogs and pattens, 
with a footman or waiting-maid carrying a lanthorn in 
advance; and at a certain hour of the night the clank of 
pattens and the gleam of these jack lanthorns, here and there, 
about the quiet httle town, gave notice that the cathedral card 
party had dissolved, and the luminaries were severally seeking 
their homes. To such a community, therefore, or at least to 
the female part of it, the accession of a gay, dashing young beau 
was a matter of some importance. The old ladies eyed me with 
complacency through their spectacles, and the young ladies 
pronounced me divine. Everybody received me favorably, 
excepting the gentleman who had Avritten the Latin verses on 
the belle.— Not that he was jealous of my success with the 
lady, for he had no pretensions to her ; but he heard my verses 
praised wherever he went, and he could not endure a rival with 
the muse. 

I was thus carrying every thing before me. I was the Adonis 
of the cathedral circle ; when one evening there was a pubKc 
ball which was attended likewise by the gentry of the neighbor- 
hood. I took great pains with my toilet on the occasion, and I 
had never looked better. I had determined that night to make 
my grand assault on the heart of tlie young lady, to batter it 
with all my forces, and the next morning to demand a sur- 
render in due form. 

I entered the ball-room amidst a buzz and flutter, which 
generally took place among the young ladies on my appearance. 
I was in fine spirits ; for to tell the truth, I had exhilarated 
myself by a cheerful glass of wine on the occasion. I talked, 
and rattled, aud said a thousand silly things, slap-dash, with 
al|fthe confidence of a man sure of his auditors ; and every thing 
had its effect. 

In the midst of my triimaph I observed a little knot gathering 
together in the upper part of the room. By degrees it increased. 
A tittering broke out there ; and glances were cast round at me, 
and then there would be fresh tittering. Some of the young 
ladies would hurry away to distant parts of the room, and 
whisper to their friends ; wherever they went there was still 
this tittering and glancing at me. I did not know what to 
make of all this. I looked at myself from head to foot ; and 
peeped at my back in a glass, to see if any thing was odd 
about my person; any awkward exposure; any whimsical tasr 



130 TALES OF A TBA YELLEB. 

hanging out— no— every thing was right. I was a perfect pic- 
ture. 

I determined that it must be some choice saying of mine, that 
was bandied about in this knot of merry beauties, and I deter- 
mined to enjoy one of my good things in the rebound. 

I stepped gently, therefore, up the room, smiling at every 
one as I passed, who I must say all smiled and tittered in 
return. I approached the group, smirking and perking my 
chin, like a man who is full of pleasant feeling, and sure of 
being well received. Tiie cluster of little belles opened as I 
advanced. 

Heavens and earth \ whom should I perceive in the midst of 
them, but my early and tormenting flame, the everlasting 
Sacharissa ! She was grown up, it is true, into the full beauty 
of womanhood, but shovf ed by the provoking merriment of her 
countenance, that she perfectly recollected me, and the ridicu- 
lous flagellations of which she had twice been the cause. 

I saw at once the exterminatmg cloud of ridicule that was 
bursting over me. My crest fell. The flame of love went sud- 
denly out in my bosom ; or was extinguished by overwhelm- 
ing shame. How I got down the room I know not ; I fancied 
every one tittering at me. Just as I reached the door, I caught 
a glance of my mistress and her aunt, listening to the whis- 
pers of my poetic rival ; the old lady raising her hands and 
eyes, and the face of the young one lighted up with scorn 
ineffable. I paused to see no more ; but made two steps from 
the top of the stairs to the bottom. The next morning, before 
sunrise, I beat a retreat ; and did not feel the blushes cool from 
my tingling cheeks until I had lost sight of the old towers of 
the cathedral. 

I now returned to town thoughtful and crestfallen. My 
money was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and witliout 
calculation. The dream of love was over, and the reign of 
, pleasure at an end. I determined to retrench while I had yet 
a trifle left ; so selling my equipage and horses for half their 
value, I quietly put the money in my pocket and turned 
pedestrian. I had not a doubt that, with my great expecta- 
tions, I could at any time raise funds, either on usury or by 
borrowing; but I was principled against both one and the 
other ; and resolved, by strict economy, to make my slender 
purse hold out, until my uncle should give up the ghost ; or 
rather, the estate. 

I stayed at home, therefore, and read, and would have 



THE TOUNG MAN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 131 

written ; but I had already suffered too much from my poeti- 
cal productions, which had generally involved me in some 
ridiculous scrape. I gradually acquired a rusty look, and had 
a straightened, money-borrowing air, upon which the world 
began to shy me. I have never felt disposed to quarrel with 
the world for its conduct. It has ahvays used me well. When 
I have been flush, and gay, and disposed for society, it has 
caressed me; and when I have been pinched, and reduced, and 
wished to be alone, why, it has left me alone, and what more 
could a man desire?— Take my w-ord for it, this world is a more 
obhging world than i)eople generally represent it. 

Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retirement, 
and my studiousness, I received news that my uncle was dan- 
gerously ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's affection to 
receive his dymg breath and his last testament. I found him 
attended by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; by the woman 
who occasionally worked about the house ; and by the foxy- 
headed boy, young Orson, whom I had occasionally hunted 
about the park. 

Iron Jolm gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation as I 
entered the room, and received me v\^ith something almost hke 
a smile of welcome. The woman sat blubbering at the foot of 
the bed ; and the foxy-headed Orson, who had now grown to 
be a lubberly lout, stood gazing in stupid vacancy at a dis- 
tance. 

My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The chamber was 
without a fire, or any of the comforts of a sick-room. The 
cobwebs flaunted from the ceiling. The tester was covered 
with dust, and the curtains were tattered. From underneath 
the bed peeped out one end of his strong box. Against the 
wainscot were suspended rusty blunderbusses, horse pistols, 
and a cut-and-thrust sword, with which he had fortified his 
room to defend his life and treasure. He had employed no 
physician during his illness, and from the scanty relics lying 
on the table, seemed almost to have denied himself the assis- 
tance of a cook. 

When I entered the room he was lying motionless ; with his 
eyes fixed and his mouth open ; at the first look I thought him 
a corpse. The noise of my entrance made him turn his head. 
At the sight of me a ghastly smile came over his face, and his 
glazing eye gleamed ^^ith satisfaction. It was the only smile 
he had ever given me, and it went to riij heart. *' Poor old 
man.^" thought I, "why would you not let me love you?— Why 



132 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

would you force me to leave you thus desolate, when I see that 
my presence has the power- to cheer you?" 

"Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low gasp 
ing voice— "I am glad you are come. I shall now die with 
satisfaction. Look," said he, raising his withered hand and 
pointing— " look — in that box on the table you will find that I 
have not forgotten you." 

I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears stood in my 
eyes. I sat down by his bed-side, and watched him, but he 
never spoke again. My presence, however, gave him evident 
satisfaction— for every now and then, as he looked at me, a 
vague smile would come over his visage, and he would feebly 
point to the sealed box on the table. As the day wore away, 
his hfe seemed to wear away with it. Towards sunset, his 
hand sunk on the bed and lay motionless; his eyes grew 
glazed ; his mouth remained open, and thus he gradually died. 

I could not but feel shocked at this absolute extinction of my 
kindred. I dropped a tear of real sorrow over this strange old 
man, who had thus reserved his smile of kindness to his death- 
bed ; Hke an evening sun after a gloomy day, just shining out 
to set in darkness. Leaving the corpse in charge of the domes- 
tics, I retired for the night. 

It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if singing my 
uncle's requiem about the mansion; and the bloodhounds 
howled without as if they knew of the death of their old mas- 
ter. Iron John almost grudged me the tallow candle to bum 
in my apartment and light up its dreariness; so accustomed 
had he been to starveling economy. I could not sleep. The 
recollection of my uncle's dying scene and the dreary sounds 
about the house, affected my mind. These, however, were 
succeeded by plans for the future, and I lay awake the greater 
part of the night, indulging the poetical anticipation, how soon 
Iv/ould make these old walls ring with cheerful life, and 
restore the hospitality of my mother's ancestors. 

My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I knew there 
was nobody that respected his memory ; and I was determined 
that none should be summoned to sneer over his funeral wines, 
and make merry at his grave. He was buried in the church of 
the neighboring village, though it was not the burying place 
of his race ; but he had expressly enjoined that he should not 
be buried with his family ; he had quarrelled mth the most of 
them when living, and he carried his resentments even into the 
grave. 



I defrayed the expenses of the funeral out of my own purse, 
that I might have done with the undertakers at once, and clear 
the ill-omened hirds from the premises. I invited the parson 
of the parish, and the lawyer from the village to attend at the 
house the next morning and hear the reading of the will. I 
treated them to an excellent breakfast, a profusion that had 
not been seen at the house for many a j^ear. As soon as the 
breakfast tilings were removed, I summoned Iron John, the 
woman, and the boy, for I was particular of having every one 
present and proceeding regularly. The box was placed on the 
table. All was silence. I broke the seal ; raised the lid ; and 
beheld— not the will, but my accursed poem of Doubting Castle 
and Giant Despair ! 

Could any mortal have conceived that this old withered man ; 
so. taciturn, and apparently lost to f eehng, could have treasured 
up for years the thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish 
him with such cruel ingenuity? I could now account for his 
dying smile, the only one he had ever given me. He had been 
a grave man all his life ; it was strange that he should die in 
the enjoyment of a joke; and it was hard that that joke should 
be at my expense. 

The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to comprehend 
the matter. "Here must be some mistake," said the lawyer, 
"there is no wiU here." 

" Oh," said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty jaws, " if it is 
a will you a.re looking for, I beheve I can find one." 

He retired with the same singular smile with which he had 
greeted me on my arrival, and which I now apprehended boded 
me no good. In a little while he returned vfith a will perfect 
at all points, properly signed and sealed and witnessed ; worded 
with horrible correctness; in which he left large legacies to 
Iron John and his daughter, and the residue of his fortune to 
the foxy-headed boy ; who,^ to my utter astonishment, was his- 
son by this very woman ; he having married her privately ; 
a,nd, as I verily believe, for no other purpose than to have an 
heir, and so baulk my father and his issue of the inheritance. 
There was one little proviso, in which he mentioned that hav- 
ing discovered his nephew to have a pretty turn for poetry, he 
presumed he had no occasion for wealth ; he recommended him, 
however, to the patronage of his heir ; and requested that he 
might have a garret, rent free, in Doubting Castle. 



134 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 



GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 

Mr. Buckthorne liad paused at the death of his uncle, and 
the downfall of his great expectations, which formed, as he 
said, an epoch in his history ; and it was not until some little 
time afterwards, and in a very sober mood, that he resumed 
his particolored 'narrative. 

After leaving the domains of my defunct uncle, said he, when 
the gate closed betv/een me and what was once to have been 
mine, I felt thrust out naked into the world, and completely 
abandoned to fortune. What was to become of me? I had 
been brought up to nothing but expectations, and they had aU 
been disappointed. I had no relations to look to for counsel 
or assistance. The world seemed all to have died away from 
me. ¥/ave after wave of relationship had ebbed off, and I was 
left a mere hulk upon the strand. I am not apt to be greatly 
cast down, but at thig time I felt sadly disheartened. I could 
not realize my situation, nor form a conjecture how I was to 
get forward. 

I was now to endeavor to make money. The idea was new 
and strange to me. It was like being asked to discover the 
philosopher's stone. I had never thought about money, other 
than to put my hand into my pocket and find it, or if there 
were none there, to wait until a new supply came from home. 
I had considered life as a mere space of time to be filled up with 
enjoyments ; but to have it portioned out into long hours and 
days of toil, merely that I miglit gain bread to give me strength 
to toil on ; to labor but for the purpose of perpetuating a life of 
labor vv^as new and appaling to me. This may appear a very 
simple matter to some, but it will be understood by every 
unlucky wight in my predicament, who has had the misfortune 
of being born to great expectations. 

I passed several days in rambling Pobout the scenes of my boy- 
I lood ; partly because I absolutely did not know what to do with 
myself, and partly because I did not know that I should ever 
see them again. I clung to them as one clings to a wreck, 
though he knows he must eventually cast himself loose and 
swim for his life. I sat down on a hill within sight of my 
paternal home, but I did not venture to approach it, for I felt 
compunction at the thoughtlessness with which I had dissip- 
ated my patrimony. But v.^as I to blame, when I had the rich 
possessions of my curmudgeon of an uncle in expectation? 



GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN. 135 

The new possessor of the place was making great alterations. 
The house was almost rebuilt.^ The trees which stood about it 
were cut down ; my mother's flower-garden was thrown into a. 
lawn ; all was undergoing a change. I turned my back upon 
it with a sigh, and rambled to another part of the country. 

How thoughtful a httie adversity makes one. As I came in 
sight of the school-house where I had so often been flogged in 
the cause of wisdom, you would hardly have recognized the 
truant boy who but a few years since had eloped so heedlessly 
from its walls. I leaned over the paling of the playground, 
and watched the scholars at their games, and looked to see if 
there might not be some urchin among them, like I was once, 
full of gay dreams about life and the world. The play-ground 
seemed smaller than when I used to sport about it. The house 
and park, too, of the neighboring squire, the father of the cruel 
Sacharissa, had shrunk in size and diminished in ma.gnificence. 
The distant hills no longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! no 
longer awakened ideas of a fairy land beyond. 

As I was rambhng pensively through a neighboring meadow, 
in which I had many a time gathered primroses, I met the very 
pedagogue who had been the tyrant and dread of my boyhood. 
I had sometimes vowed to myself, when suffering under his rod, 
that I would have my revenge if ever I met him when I had 
grown to be a man. The time had come ; but I had no disposition 
to keep my vow. The few years which had matured me into a 
a vigorous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared 
to have had a paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered 
that this poor helpless mortal could have been an object oi 
terror to me ! That I shoifld have watched with anxiety the 
glance of that failing eye, or dreaded the power of that tremb- 
ling hand ! He tottered feebly along the path, and had some 
difficulty in getting over a stile. I ran and assisted him. He 
looked at me with surprise, but did not recognize me, and made 
a low bow of humihty and thanks. I had no disposition to 
make myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to boast of. 
The pains he had taken and the pains he had inflicted had been 
equally useless. His repeated predictions were fully verified, 
and I felt that little Jack Buckthorne, the idle boy, had grown 
up to be a very good-for-nothing man. 

This is all very comfortless detail ; but as I have told you of 
my follies, it is meet that I show you how for once I was 
schooled for them. 

The most thoughtless of mortals will some time or other have 



136 TALES OF A TEAVELLEB. 

this clay of gloom, when lie will be compelled to reflect, i felt 
on this occasion as if I had a kind of penance to perform, and I 
made a i)ilgrimage in expiation of my past levity. 

Having passed a night at Leamington, I set off by a private 
path which leads up a hill, through a grove, and across quiet 
fields, until I came to the smaU village, or rather hamlet of 
Lenington. I sought the village church. It is an old low edi- 
fice of gray stone on the brow of a small hill, looking over fer- 
tile fields to where the proud towers of Warwick Castle lifted 
themselves against the distant horizon. A part of the church- 
yard is shaded by large trees. Under one of these my mother 
lay buried. You have, no doubt, thought me a light, heartless 
being. I thought myself so — but there are moments of 
adversity v^^hich let us into some feelings of our nature, to 
which we might otherwise remain j)erpetual strangers. 

I sought my mother's grave. The weeds were ah*eady matted 
over it, and the tombstone was half hid among nettles. I 
cleared them away and they stung my hands ; but I was heed- 
less of the pain, for my heart ached too severely. I sat down 
on the grave, a.nd read over and over again the epitaph on the 
stone. It was simple, but it was true. I had written it myself. 
I had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in vain ; my feelings 
refused to utter tnemselves in rhyme. My heart had grad- 
ually been filling during my lonely wanderings ; it was now 
charged to the brim and overflowed. I sank upon the grave 
and buried my face in the tall grass and wept like a child. 
Yes, I wept in manhood upon the grave, as I had in infancy 
upon the bosom of my mother. Alas ! how little do we appre- 
ciate a mother's tenderness while living ! How heedless are we 
in youth, of all her anxieties and kindness. But v/hen she is 
dead and gone ; when the cares and coldness of the world come 
withering to our hearts ; when we find how hard it is to find 
true sympathy, how few love us for ourselves, how few wiU 
befriend us in our misfortunes ; then it is we think of the moth- 
er we have lost. It is true I had always loved my mother, 
even in my most heedless days ; but I felt how inconsiderate 
and ineffectual had been my love. My heart melted as I retraced 
the days of infancy, when I was led by a mother's hand and 
rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, and was without care or 
sorrow. "Oh, my mother!" exclaimed I, burying my face 
again in the grass of the grave—" Oh, that I were once more 
by your side ; sleeping, never to wake again, on the cares and 
troubles of this woi*ld !" 



GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED MAN 137 

I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and the vio- 
lence of my emotion gradually exhausted itself. It was a 
hearty, honest, natural discharge of griefs which had been 
slowly accumulating, and gave me wonderful rehef. I rose 
from the grave as if I had been offering up a sacrifice, and I 
felt as if that sacrifice had been accepted. 

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by one, the 
weeds from her grave ; the tears trickled more slowly down my 
cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was a comfort to think that 
she had died before sorrow and poverty came upon her child, 
and that aU his great expectations were blasted. 

I leaned my cheek upon my hand and looked upon the land- 
scape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The wMstle of a peasant 
from an adjoining field came cheerily to my ear. I seemed to 
respire hope and comfort with the free air that whispered 
through the leaves and played lightly with my hair, and dried 
the tears upon my cheek. A lark, rising from the field before 
me, and leaving, as it were, a stream of song behind him as he 
rose, lifted my fancy with him. He hovered in the air just 
above the place where the towers of Warwick Castle marked 
the horizon ; and seemed as if fluttering with dehght at his own 
melody. " Surely," thought I, "if there were such a thing as 
transmigration of souls, this might be taken for some poet, let 
loose from earth, but still revelling in song, and caroUing about 
fair fields and lordly towns." 

At this moment the long forgotten feeling of poetry rose 
within me. A thought sprung at once into my mind: " I will 
become an author, " said I. "I have hitherto indulged in poetry 
as a pleasure, and it has brought me nothing but pain. Let me 
try what it wiU do, when I cultivate it with devotion as a 
pursuit." 

The resolution, thus suddenly aroused within me, heaved a 
load from off my heart. I felt a confidence in it from th-e very 
place where it was formed. It seemed as though my mother's 
spirit whispered it to me from her grave. " I will henceforth," 
said I, ' ' endeavor to be aU that she fondly imagined me. I will 
endeavor to act as if she were witness of my actions. I will 
endeavor to acquit myself in such manner, that when I revisit 
her grave there may, at least, be no compunctious bitterness in 
my tears." 

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attestation of 
my vow. I plucked some primroses that were growing there 
and laid them next my heart. I left the church-yard with my 



138 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

spirits once more lifted up, and set out a third time for London, 
in the character of an author. 

Here my companion made a pause, and I waited in anxious 
suspense ; hoping to have a whole volume of hterary life unfold- 
ed to me. He seemed, however, to have sunk into a fit of pen- 
sive musing; and when a.fter some time I gently roused him 
by a question or two as to his literary career. " No," said he 
sixdling, "over that part of my story I wish to leave a cloud. 
Let the mysteries of the craft rest sacred for me. Let those 
who have never adventured into the republic of letters, still 
look upon it as a fairy land. Let them suppose the author the 
very being they rjicture him from his works ; I am not the man 
to mar their illusion. I am not the man to hint, while one is 
admiring the silken web of Persia, that it has been spun from 
the entrails of a miserable worm." 

" Well," said I, "if you will tell me nothing of your literary 
history, let me know at least if you have had any farther intel- 
ligence from Doubting Castle." 

"Willingly," replied he, "though I have but little to com- 
municate." 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 

A LONG time elapsed, said Buckthorne, without my receiving 
any accounts of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I felt so 
much soreness on the subject, that I wished, if possible, to shut 
it from my thoughts. At length chance took me into that part 
of the country, and I could not refrain from making some 
Inquiries. 

I learnt that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self-wiUed, 
and clownish. His ignorance aiid clownishness had prevented 
his mingling with the neighboring gentry. In spite of liis great 
fortune he had been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain the 
hand of the daughter of the parson, and had at length shrunk 
into the hmits of such society as a mere man of wealth can 
gather in a country neighborhood. 

He kept horses and hounds and a roaring table, at which 
were collected the loose livers of the country round, and the 
shabby gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. When he could 
get no other company he would smoke and drink with liis own 



THE BOOBT SQUIRE. 139 

servants, who in their turns fleeced and despised him. Stilly 
with all this apparent prodigality, he had a leaven of the old 
man in iiim, which showed that he was his true-born son. He 
He hved far within his income, was vulgar in his expenses, and 
penurious on many points on which a gentleman would be 
extravagant. His house servants were obliged occasionally to 
work on the estate, and part of the pleasure grounds were 
ploughed up and devoted to husbandry. 

His table, though plentiful, was coarse; his Mquors strong 
and bad ; and more ale and whiskey were expended in his es- 
tablishment than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant 
at his own table, and exacted a rich man's homage from his 
vulgar and obsequious guests. 

As fco Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient 
of the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, and quar- 
relled with him soon after he came to the estate. The old man 
had retired to a neighboring village where he hved on the leg- 
acy of his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom 
seen out of it as a rat out of his hole in daylight. 

The cub, like Caliban, seemed to have an instinctive attach- 
ment to his mother. She resided with him; but, from long 
habit, she acted more as serva^nt than as mistress of the mansion ; 
for she toiled in all the domestic drudgery, and was oftener 
in the kitchen than the parlor. Such was the information 
which I collected of my rival cousin, who had so unexpectedly 
elbowed me out of all my expectations. 

I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this 
scene of my boyhood ; and to get a peep at the odd kind of life 
that was passing within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. 
I determined to do so in disguise. My booby cousin had never 
seen enough of me to be very familiar with my countenance, 
and a few years make great difference between youth and man- 
hood. I understood he was a breeder of cattle and proud of his 
stock. I dressed myself, therefore, as a substantial farmer, 
and with the assistance of a red scratch that came low down on 
my forehead, made a complete change in my physiognomy. 

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of the 
park, and was admitted by an old woman, who was washing in 
a dilapidated building which had once been a porter's lodge. 
I advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, many of the trees 
of which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds 
were in scarcely better keeping than during my uncle's lifetime. 
The grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted 



140 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

pruning and clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing 
about the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fish- 
ponds. 

The road to the house bore very few traces of carriage 
wheels, as my cousin received few visitors but such as came on 
foot or on horseback, and never used a carriag^e himself. Once, 
indeed, as I was told, he had had the old family carriage 
drawn out from among the dust and cobwebs of the coach- 
liouse and furbished up, and had drove, with his mother, to 
the village church to take formal possession of the family 
pew ; but there was such hooting and laughing after them as 
they passed through the village, and such giggling and banter- 
mg about the church door, that the pageant had never made a 
reappearance. 

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out 
barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, rather than 
barking, of two old worn-out bloodhounds, which I recognized 
for the ancient hf e-guards of my uncle. The house had still a 
neglected, randop appearance, though much altered for the 
better since my last visit. Several of the windows were broken 
and patched up with boards ; and others had been bricked up 
to save taxes. I observed smoke, however, rising from the 
chimneys ; a phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient es- 
tablishment. On passing that part of the house where the 
dining-room was situated, I heard the sound of boisterous 
merriment ; where three or four voices were talking at once, 
and oaths and laughter wxre horribly mingled. 

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, a 
tall, hard-fisted country clown, with a hvery coat put over the 
imder-garments of a ploughman. I requested to see the master 
of the house, but was told he v/as at dinner with some ' ' gem- 
men" of the neighborhood. I made known my business and 
sent in to know if I might talk with the master about his 
cattle ; for I felt a great desire to have a peep at him at his 
orgies. Word was returned that he was engaged with com- 
pany, and could not attend to business, but that if I would 
"step in and take a drink of something, I was heartily wel- 
come." I accordingly entered the hall, where whips and hats 
of all kinds and shapes were lying on an oaken table, two or 
three clownish servants were lounging about ; everything had 
a look of confusion and carelessness. 

The apartments through which I passed had the same air of 
departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The once rich 



HIE BOOBY SQUIRE. 141 

curtains were faded and dusty; the furniture greased and tar- 
nished. On entering the dining-room I found a number of odd, 
vulgar-looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on 
which were bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, and tobacco. 
Several dogs were lying about the room, or sitting and watch- 
ing their masters, and one was gnawing a bone under a side- 
table. 

The master of the feast sat at the head of the board. He was 
greatly altered. He had grown tliick-set and rather gummy, 
with a fiery, foxy head of hair. There was a singular mixture of 
foolislmess, arrogance, and conceit in his countenance. He 
was dressed in a vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a 
red waistcoat, and green coat, and was evidently, like his 
guests, a little flushed with drinking. The whole company 
stared at me with a wliimsical muggy look, like men whose 
senses were a little obfuscated by beer rather than wine. 

My cousm, (God forgive me! the appellation sticks in my 
throat,) my cousin invited me with awkward civility, or, as 
he intended it, condescension, to sit to the table and drink. 
We talked, as usual, about the weather, the crops, politics, and 
hard times. My cousin was a loud poUtician, and evidently 
accustomed to talk without contradiction at his own table. He 
was amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by the thi'one to 
the last guinea, "as every gentleman of fortune should do." 
The village exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejacu- 
late, "very ti*ue," to every thing he said. 

The conversation turned upon cattle ; he boasted of his breed, 
his mode of managing it, and of the general management of 
his estate. This unluckily drew on a liistory of the place and 
of the family. He spoke of my late uncle with the greatest 
irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He mentioned my 
name, and my blood began to boil. He described my frequent 
visits to my uncle when I was a lad, and I found the varlet, 
even at that time, unp as he was, had known that he was to 
inherit the estate. 

He described the scene of my uncle's death, and the opening 
of the will, with a degi'ee of coarse humor that I had not expected 
from him, and, vexed as I was, I could not help joining in 
the laugh, for I have always relished a joke, even though made 
at my own expense. He went on to speak of my various pur- 
suits ; my strolling freak, and that somewhat nettled me. At 
length he talked of my parents. He ridiculed my father: I 
stomached even that, though with ^reat diificulty. He men- 



142 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tioned my mother with a sneer — and in an instant he lay 
sprawling at my feet. 

Here a scene of tumnlt succeeded. The table was nearly 
overturned. Bottles, glasses, and tankards, rolled crasliing 
and clattering about the floor. The company seized hold of 
both of us to keep us from doing farther mischief. I struggled 
to get loose, for I was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me 
to strip and fight him on the lawn. I agreed ; for I felt the 
strength of a giant in me, and I longed to pummel liim soundly. 

Away then we were borne. A ring was formed. I had a 
second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, as he 
advanced to fight, said something about his generosity in 
showing me such fair play, when I had made such an unpro- 
voked attack upon him at his own table. 

"Stop there !" cried I, in a rage — "unprovoked! — know that 
I am John Buckthorne, and you have insulted the memory of 
my mother." 

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said. He drew back 
and reflected for a moment. 

"Nay, damn it," said he, " that's too much — that's clear an- 
other thing. I've a mother myself, and no one shall speak ill 
of her, bad as she is." 

He paused again. Nature seemed to have a rough struggle in 
his rude bosom. 

"Damn it, cousin," cried he, "I'm sorry for what I said. 
Thou'st served me right in knocking me down, and I Hke thee 
the better for it. Here's my hand. Come and live with me, 
and damme but the best room in the house, and the best horse 
in the stable, shaU be at thy service." 

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of na- 
ture breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. I forgave 
the feUow in a moment all his crimes of having been bom in 
wedlock and inheriting my estate. I shook the hand he offered 
me, to convince him that I bore him no ill will; and then 
making my way through the gaping crowd of toad-eaters, bade 
adieu to my uncle's domains forever. This is the last I have 
seen or heard of my cousin,, or of the domestic concerns of 
Doubting Castle. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER, 143 



THE STEOLLING MANAGER. 

As I was walking one morning with Buckthorne, near one of 
the principal theaters, he directed my attention to a group of 
those equivocal beings that may often be seen hovering about 
the stage-doors of theaters. They were marvellously ill- 
favored in their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins ; 
yet they wore their hats smartly on one side, and had a certain 
knowing, dirty-gentlemanhke air, which is common to the 
subalterns of the drama. Buckthorne knew them well by 
early experience. 

These, said he, are the ghosts of departed kings and heroes; 
fellows who sway sceptres and truncheons ; connnand kingdoms 
and armies ; and after giving way realms and treasures over 
night, have scarce a shilMng to pay for a breakfast in the morn- 
ing. Yet they have the true vagabond abhorrence of all useful 
and industrious employment ; and they have their pleasures 
too : one of which is to lounge in this way in the sunshine, at 
the stage-door, during rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical 
jokes on all passers-by. 

Nothing is more traditional and legitimate than the stage. 
Old scenery, old clothes, old sentiments, old ranting, and old 
jokes, are handed down from generation to generation; and 
will probably continue to be so, until time shall be no more. 
Every hanger-on of a theater becomes a wag by inheritance, 
and flourishes about at tap-rooms and six-penny clubs, with 
the property jokes of the green-room. 

While -amusing ourselves with reconnoitring this group, we 
noticed one in particular who appeared to be the oracle. He 
was a weather-beaten veteran, a Hti.e bronzed by time and 
beer, who had no doubt, grown gray in the parts of robbers, 
cardinals, Roman senators, and walking noblemen. 

"There's something in the set of that hat, and the turn of 
that physiognomy, that is extremely famihar to me," said Buck- 
thorne. He looked a little closer. "I cannot be mistaken,'^ 
added he, "that must be my old brother of the truncheon, 
Flimsey, the tragic hero of the stroUing company." 

It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident signs that 
times went hard with him; he was so finely and shabbily 
dressed. His coat was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord 
Townly cut; single-breasted^ and scarcely capable of meeting 



144 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

in front of his body ; which, from long intimacy, had acquired 
the symmetry and robustness of a beer-barrel. He wore a pair 
of dingy wliite stockinet pantaloons, which had much ado to 
reach his waistcoat ; a great quantity of dirty cravat ; and a 
pair of old russet-colored tragedy boots. 

When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne drew him 
aside and made liimself known to him. The tragic veteran 
could scarcely recognize him, or believe that he was really his 
quondam associate "little gentleman Jack." Buckthorne in- 
vited him to a neighboring coffee-house to talk over old times ; 
and in the course of a little wMle we were put in possession of 
his history in. brief. 

He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling company 
for some tune after Buckthorne had left it, or rather had been 
driven from it so abruptly. At length the manager died, and the 
troop was thrown into confusion. 'Every one aspired to the 
crown; everyone was for taking the lead; and the manager's 
widow, although a tragedy queen, and a brimstone to boot, 
pronounced it utterly impossible to keep any control over such 
a set of tempestuous rascallions. 

Upon this hint I spoke, said Flimsey — I stepped forward, and 
offered my services in the most effectual way. They were ac- 
cepted. In a week's time I married the widow and succeeded 
to the throne. ' ' The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish 
forth the marriage table," as Hamlet says. But the ghost of 
my predecessor never haunted me; and I inherited crowns, 
sceptres, bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and trum- 
pery, not omitting the ^vidow, without the least molestation. 

I now led a flourishing hfe of it ; for our company was pretty 
strong and attractive, and as my v>^ife and I took the heavy 
parts of tragedy, it was a great saving to the treasury. We 
carried off the palm from all the rival shows at country fairs ; 
a.nd I assure you we have even drawn full houses, and being 
applauded by the critics at Bartlemy fair itself, though we had 
Astley's troupe, the Irish giant, and "the death of Nelson" in 
wax-work to contend against. 

I soon began to experience, however, the cares of command. 
I discovered that there were cabals breaking out in the com- 
pany, headed by the clown, who you may recoUect was a terri- 
bly peevish, fractious fellow, and always in ni-humor. I had a 
great mind to turn him off' at once, but I could not do without 
him, for there was not a droUer scoundrel on the stage. His 
very shape was comic, for he had to turn his back upon the 



TEE STROLLING MANAGER l45( 

audience and all the ladies were ready to die with laughing. 
He felt his importance, and took advantage of it. He would 
keep the audience in a continual roar, and then come behind 
the scenes and fret and fume and play the very devil. I ex- 
cused a great deal in him, however, knowing that cjmic actors 
are a httle prone to this infirmity of temper. 

I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer nature to strug- 
gle with; which was, the affection of my wife. As ill luck 
would have it, she took it into her head to be very fond of me, 
and became intolerably jealous. I could not keep a pretty girl 
in the company, and hardly dared embrace an ugly one, even 
when my part required it. I have known her to reduce a fine 
lady to tatters, "to very rags," as Hamlet says, in an instant, 
and destroy one of the very best dresses in the wardrobe;, 
merely because she saw me kiss her at the side scenes ;— though 
I give you my honor it was done merely by way of rehearsal. 

This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural hking 
to pretty faces, and wish to have them about me ; and because 
they are indispensable to the success of a company at a fair, 
where one has to vie with so many rival theatres. But when 
once a jealous wife gets a freak in her head there's no use in 
talking of interest or anything else. Egad, sirs, I have more 
than once trembled when, during a fit of her tantrums, she was 
playing high tragedy, and flourisliing her tui dagger on the 
stage, lest she should give way to her himior, and stab some 
fancied rival in good earnest. 

I went on better, however, than could be expected, consider- 
ing the weakness of my fiesh and the violence of my rib. I 
had not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter, whose spouse 
was continually ferreting out some nev\^ intrigue and making 
the heavens almost too hot to hold him. 

At lengtii, as luck would have it, we were performing at a 
country fair, when I understood the theatre of a neighboring 
town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to be em^olled 
in a settled company, and the height of my desire was to get 
on a par with a brother-in-law, who was manager of a regular 
theatre, and who had looked down upon me. Here was an 
opportunity not to be neglected. I concluded an agreement 
wj|h the proprietors, and in a few days opened the theatre with 
great eclat. 

Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, "the high 
top-gallant of my joy," as Thomas says. No longer a chieftain 
of a wandering tribe, but the monarch of a legitimate throne — 



146 TALES OF A THAVELLBR 

and entitled to call even the great potentates of Covent Garden 
and Drury Lane cousin. 

You no doubt think my happiness complete, Alas, sir ! I 
was one of the most uncomfortable dogs hving. No one 
knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a manager; but 
above all, of a country management — no one can conceive the 
contentions and quarrels within doors, the oppressions and 
vexations from without. 

I was pestered with the bloods and loungers of a country 
town, who infested my green-room, and played the mischief 
among my actresses. But there was no shaking them off. It 
would have been ruin to affront them ; for, though troublesome 
friends, they would have been dangerous enemies. Then there 
were the village critics and village amateurs, who were con- 
tinually tormenting me with advice, and getting into a passion 
if I would not take it : — especially the village doctor and the 
village attorney ; who had both been to London occasionally, 
and knew what acting should be. 

I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scapegraces as were 
ever collected together within the walls of a theatre. I had 
been obliged to combine my original troupe with some of the 
former troupe of the theatre, who were favorites with the pub- 
lic. Here was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. 
They were all the time either fighting or frolicking with each 
other, and I scarcely knew which mood was least troublesome. 
If they quarrelled, everything went wrong ; and if they were 
friends, they were continually playing off some confounded 
prank upon each other, or upon me; for I had unhappily 
acquired among them the character of an easy, good natured 
fellow, the worst character that a manager can possess. 

Their waggery at times drove me almost crazy ; for there is 
nothing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and hoaxes and 
pleasantries of a veteran band of theatrical vagabonds. I 
relished them well enough, it is true, wliile I was merely one 
of the company, but as manager I found them detestable. 
They were incessantly bringing some disgrace upon the theatre 
by their tavern forlics, and their pranks about the comitry 
town. All my lectures upon the importance of keeping up the 
dignity of the profession, and the respectability of the com- 
pany were in vain. The villians could not sympathize with 
the delicate feelings of a man in station. They even trifled 
with the seriousness of stage business. I have had the whole 
piece interrupted, and a croweded audience of at least twenty- 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 147 

five poiinds kept waiting, because the actors had hid away the 
breeches of Rosahnd, and have known Hamlet stalk solemnly 
on to dehver his soliloquy, with a dish-clout pinned to his 
skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of a manager's get- 
ting a character for good nature. 

I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors who 
came down starring, as it is called, from London. Of all bane- 
ful influences, keep me from that of a London star. A first- 
rate actress going the rounds of the country theatres, is as bad 
as a blazing comet, whisking about the heavens, and shaking 
fire, and plagues, and discords from its tail. 

The moment one of these "heavenly bodies " appeared on my 
horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. l^Iy theatre was over- 
rim by provincial dandies, copper-washed counterfeits of Bond 
street loungers ; who are always proud to be in the train of an 
actress from town, and anxious to be thought on exceeding 
good terms with her. It was really a rehef to me when some 
random young nobleman would come in pm*siiit of the bait, and 
awe all this small fry to a distance. I have always felt myself 
more at ease with a nobleman than with the dandy of a coun- 
try town. 

And then the injuries I suffered in my personal dignity and 
my managcral authority from the \dsits of these great London 
actors. Sir, I was no longer master of myself or my throne. 
I was hectored and lectured in my own gTeen-room, and made 
an absolute nincompoop on my own stage. There is no tyrant 
so absolute and capricious as a London star at a country 
theatre. 

I dreaded the sight of all of them; and yet if I did not 
engage them, I was sure of having the public cleimorous against 
me. They drew full houses, and appeared to be making my 
fortune ; but they swallowed up all the profits by their insatia- 
ble demands. They were absolute tape-worms to my little 
theatre ; the more it took in, the poorer it grew. They were 
sure to leave me with an exhausted public, empty benches, and 
a score or two of affronts to settle among she townsfolk, in 
consequence of misunderstandings about the taking of places. 

But the worst thing I had to undergo in my managerial 
career was patronage. Oh, sir, of all things deliver me from 
the patronage of the great people of a country town. It was 
my ruin. You must know that this town, though smaU, was 
filled with feuds, and parties, and great folks; being a busy 
little trading and manufacturing^: town. The mischief was, 



148 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

that their greatness was of a kind not to be settled by reference 
to the court calendar, or college of heraldry. It was therefore 
the most quarrelsome kind of greatness in existence. You 
smile, sir, but let me tell you there are no feuds more furious 
than the frontier feuds, which take place on these ' ' debatable 
lands " of gentility. The most violent dispute that I ever knew 
in high Ufe, was one that occurred at a country town, on a 
question of precedence between the ladies of a manufacturer of 
pins and a manufacturer of needles. 

At the town where I was situated there were loerpetual alter- 
cations of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, for 
instance, was at daggers drawings with the head shopkeeper's, 
and both were too rich and had too many friends to be treated 
lightly. The doctor's and lawyer's ladies held their heads still 
higher ; but they in their turn were kept in check by the wife 
of a country banker, who kept her own carriage ; while a mas- 
culine widow of cracked character, and second-hand fashion, 
who lived in a large house, and was in some way related to 
nobility, looked down upon them all. She had been exiled 
from the great world, but here she ruled absolute. To be sure 
her mamiers were not over-elegant, nor her fortune over-large ; 
but then, sir, her blood — oh, her blood carried it all hollow, 
there was no v/ithstanding a woman with such blood in her 
veins. 

After all, she had frequent battles for precedence at balls and 
assemblies, with some of the sturdy dames of the neighbor- 
hood, who stood upon their wealth and their reputations ; but 
then she had two dashing daughters, who dressed as fine as 
dragons, and had as high blood as their mother, and seconded 
her in everything. So they carried their point with high heads, 
and every body hated, abused, and stood in awe of the Fan- 
tadlins. 

Such was the state of the fashionable world in tliis self-im- 
portant little town. Unluckily I was not as well aquainted 
\\dth its pohtics as I should have been. I had found myself a 
stranger and in great perplexities during my first season; I 
determined, therefore, to put myself under the patronage of 
•some powerful name, and thus to take the field, with the pre- 
judices of the public in my favor. I cast round my thoughts 
for the purpose, and in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fan- 
tadhn. No one seemed to me to have a more absolute sway in 
the world of fashion. I had always noticed that her party 
slammed the box door the loudest; ^t the theatre; had most 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 149 

beaux attending on them; and talked and laughed loudest 
during the performance; and then the Miss Fantadlins wore 
always more feathers and flowers than any other ladies ; and 
used quizzing glasses incessantly. The first evening of my 
theatre's reopening, therefore, was announced in flaring capi- 
tals on the play bills, "under the patronage of the Honorable 
Mrs. Fantadlin." 

Sir, the whole conmaunity flew to arms ! The banker's wife 
felt her dignity grievously insulted at not having the preference ; 
her husband being high baihff, and the richest man in the 
place. She immediately issued invitations for a large party, 
for the night of the performance, and asked many a lady to it 
whom she never had noticed before. The fasliionable world 
had long groaned under the tyranny of the Fantadlins, and 
were glad to make a common cause against this new instance 
of assumption. — Presume to patronize the theatre ! insufferable ! 
Those, too, who had never before been noticed by the banker's 
lady, were ft-eady to enlist in any quarrel, for the honor of her 
acquaintance. All minor feuds were therefore forgotten. The 
doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady met together; aiid the 
manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady kissed each 
other, and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted the theatre 
a hore, and determined to encourage nothing but the Indian 
Jugglers, and' Mr. Walker's Eidonianeon. 

Alas for poor Pillgarhck! I httle knew the mischief that 
was brewing against me. My box book remained blank. The 
evening arrived, but no audience. The music struck up to a 
tolerable pit and gallery, but no fashionables! I peeped 
anxiously from behind the curtain, but the time passed away; 
the play was retarded imtil pit and gallery became furious; 
and I had to raise the curtain, and play my greatest part in 
tragedy to " a beggarly account of empty boxes." 

It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, and 
entered like a tempest, vdth a flutter of feathers and red shawls ; 
but they were evidently disconcerted at finding they had no 
one to admire and envy them, and were enraged at this glaring 
defection of their fashionable followers. All the beau-monde 
were engaged at the banker's lady's rout. They remained for 
some time in solitary and uncomfortable state, and though they 
had the theatre almost to themselves, yet, for the first time, 
they talked in whispers. They left the house at the end of the 
first piece, and I never saw them afterwards. 

Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the 



150 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

patronage of the Fantadlin family. It became the vogue to 
abuse the theatre and declare the performers shocking. An 
equestrian troupe opened a circus in the town about the same 
time, and rose on my ruins. My house was deserted; my 
actors grew discontented because they were ill paid; my door 
became a hammering-place for every bailiff in the county ; and 
my wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting, the 
more I wanted comfort. 

The estabhshment now became a scene of confusion and 
peculation. I was considered a ruined man, and of course fair 
game for every one to pluck at, as every one plunders a sink- 
ing ship. Day after day some of the troupe deserted, and Hke 
deserting soldiers, carried off their arms and accoutrements 
with them. In this manner my wardrobe took legs and walked 
away ; my finery strolled all over the country ; my swords and 
daggers glittered in every barn ; until at last my tailor made 
"one feU swoop," and carried oft" three dress coats, half a dozen 
doublets, and nineteen pair of flesh-colored pantaloons. 

This was the "be aU and the end all" of my fortune. I no 
longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since stealing is 
the order of the day, I'U steal too. So I secretly gathered 
together the jewels of my wardrobe ; packed up a hero's dress 
in a handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and 
quietly stole off at dead of night — "the bell then beating one," 
— leaving my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my rebelhous 
subjects, and my merciless foes, the bum-bailiffs. 

Such, sir, was the "end of all my greatness." I was heartily 
cured of aU passion for governing, and returned once more into 
the ranks. I had for some time the usual run of an actor's 
life. I played in various country theatres, at fairs, and in 
barns ; sometimes hard pushed ; sometimes flush, until on one 
occasion I came within an ace of making my fortune, and 
becoming one of the wonders of the age. 

I was playing the part of Richard the Third in a country 
bam, and absolutely " out-Heroding Herod." An agent of one 
of the great London theatres was i^resent. He was on the look- 
out for something that might be got up as a prodigy. The 
theatre, it seems, was in desperate condition — nothing but a 
miracle could save it. He pitched upon me for that miracle. 
I had a remarkable bluster in my style, and swagger in my 
gait, and having taken to drink a httle during my troubles, 
my voice was somewhat cracked ; so that it seemed like two 
voices run into one. The thought .struck ,the aerent to brine: 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 151 

me out as a theatrical wonder ; as the restorer of natural and 
legitimate acting; as the only one who could understand and 
act Shakspeare rightly. He waited upon me the next morn- 
ing, and opened Ms plan. I shrunk from it w4th becoming 
modesty ; for well as I thought of myself, I felt myself unworthy 
of such praise. 

'"Sblood, man!" said he, "no praise at all. You don't im- 
agine that I think you all this. I only want the public to 
tliink so. Nothing so easy as gulling the public if you only set 
up a prodigy. You need not try to act well, y^u must only act 
furiously. No matter what you do, or how you act, so that it 
be but odd and strange. We will have all the pit packed, and 
the newspapers hired. Whatever you do different from fam- 
ous actors, it shall be insisted that you are right and they were 
wrong. If you rant, it shall be pure passion ; if you are vulgar, 
it shall be a touch of nature. Every one shall be prepared to 
fall into raptures, and shout and yell, at certain points which 
you shall make. If you do but escape pelting the first night, 
your fortune and the fortune of the theatre is made. " 

I set off for London, therefore, fuU of new hopes. I was to 
be the restorer of Shakspeare and nature, and the legitimate 
drama ; my very swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked 
voice the standard of elocution. Alas, sir ! my usual luck at- 
tended me. Before I arrived in the metropolis, a rival wonder 
had appeared. A woman who could dance the slack rope, and 
run up a cord from the stage to the gaUery with fire-works all 
round her. She was seized on by the management with 
avidity ; she was the saving of the gi^eat national theatre for 
the season. Nothing was talked of but Madame Saqui's fire- 
works and flame-colored pantaloons ; and nature, Shakspeare, 
the legitimate drama, and poor PiUgarhck were completely 
left in the lurch. 

However, as the manager was in honor bound to provide for 
me, he kept his word. It had been a turn-up of a die whether 
I should be Alexander the Great or Alexander the copper- 
smith ; the latter carried it. I could not be put at the head of 
the drama, so I was put at the tail. In other words, I was en- 
rolled among the number of what are called useful men; who, 
let me tell you, are the only comfortable actors on the stage. 
We are safe from hisses and below the hope of applause. We 
fear not the success of rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long 
as we get the words of our parts, and they are not often many, 
it is all we care for. We have our own merriment, our own 



15^ TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

friends, and our own admirers ; for every actor lias his friends 
and admirers, from the highest to the lowest. The first-rate 
actor dines with the noble amateur, and entertains a fashion- 
able table with scraps and songs and theatrical slip-slop. The 
second-rate actors have their second-rate friends and admirers, 
with whom they likewise spout tragedy and talk slip-slop ; and 
so down even to us ; who have our friends and admirers among 
spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices, who treat us to a din- 
ner now and then, and enjoy at tenth ha.nd the same scraps 
and songs and slip-slop that have been served up by our more 
fortunate brethren at the tables of the great. 

I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, knew what 
true pleasure is. I have known enough of notoriety to pity the 
poor devils who are called favorites of the public. I would 
rather be a kitten in the arms of a spoiled child, to be one 
moment petted and pampered, and the next moment thumped 
over the head with the spoon. I smile, too, to see our leading 
actors, fretting themselves with envy and jealousy about a 
trumpery renown, questionable in its quality and uncertain in 
in its duration. I laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve, at 
the bustle and importance and trouble and perplexities of our 
manager, who is harassing himself to death in the hopeless 
effort to please every, body. 

I have found among my fellow subalterns two or three 
quondam managers, who, Hke myself, have wielded the scep- 
tres of country theatres; and we have many a sly joke to- 
gether at the expense of the manager and the public. Some- 
times, too, we meet hke deposed and exiled kings, talk over the 
events of our respective reigns ; moralize over a tankard of ale, 
and laugh at the humbug of the great and httle world ; wliich, 
I take it, is the very essence of practical philosophy. 



Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. A 
few mornings after our hearing the history of the ex-manager, 
he bounced into my room before I was out of bed. 

"Give me joy! give me joy!" said he, rubbing his hands 
with the utmost glee, " my great expectations are realized!" 

I stared at hun with a look of wonder and inquiry. "My 
booby cousin is dead!" cried he, "may he rest in peace! He 
nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse in a fox-chase. 
By good luck he lived long enough to make his will. He has 
made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling of retributive 
justice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own family 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 153 

or friends know how to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the 
country to take possession. I've done- with authorship. — That 
for the critics I" said he, snapping his fingers. " Come down to 
Doubting Castle when I get settled, and egad ! I'U give you a 
rouse." So saying he shook me heartily by the hand and 
bounded off in high spirits. 

A long time elapsed before I heard from hun again. Indeed, 
it was but a short time since that I received a letter written in 
the happiest of moods. He was getting the estate into fine 
order, everything went to his wishes, and what v/as more, he 
was married to Sacharissa: who, it seems, had always enter- 
tained an ardent though secret attaclmient for him, which he 
fortunately discovered just after coming to his estate. 

'• I find," said he, "you are a little given to the sin of author- 
ship which I renounce. If the anecdotes I have given you of 
my story are of any interest, you may make use of them ; but 
come do^vn to DoulDting Castle and see how we live, and I'U 
give you my whole London life over a social glass; and a 
rattling history it shall be about authors and reviewers." 



If ever I visit Doubting Castle, and get the history he 
promises, the pubhc shaU be sure to hear of it. 



TALES OF A TRAYELLER. 



PABT THIRD. 



THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 

Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! 

"Here comes the estafette from Naples," said mine host of 
the inn at Terracina, "bring out the relay." 

The estafette came as usual galloping up the road, brandish- 
ing over his head a short-handled whip, with a long knotted 
lash ; every smack of which made a report like a pistol. He 
was a tight square-set young fellow, in the customary uniform — 
a smart blue coat, ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so 
short behind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and 
cocked up not unlike the tail of a wren. A cocked hat, edged 
with gold lace ; a pair of stiff riding boots ; but instead of the 
usual leathern breeches he had a fragment of a pair of drawers 
that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty to hide behind. 

The estafette galloped up to the door and jumped from his 
horse. 

"A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair of breeches," 
said he, "and quickly — I am behind my time, and must be 
off." 

" San Genaro !" replied the host, "why, where hast thou left 
thy garment?" 

" Among the robbers between this and Fondi." 

"What! rob an estafette ! I never heard of such folly. What 
could they hope to get from tlieo ?" 



THE INN AT TERBACINA. 155 

*' My leather breeches!" repHed the estafette. "They were 
bran new, and shone hke gold, and hit the fancy of the captain." 

' ' WelL, these f eUows grow worse and worse. To meddle with 
an estafette ! And that merely for the sake of a pair of leather 
breeches !" 

The robbing of a government messenger seemed to strike the 
host with more astonishment than any other enormity that 
had taken place on the road ; and indeed it was the first time 
so wanton an outrage had been committed ; the robbers gen- 
erally taking care not to meddle with any thing belonging to 
government. 

The estafette was by this time equipped ; for he had not lost 
an instant in making his preparations while talking. The 
relay was ready : the rosolio tossed off. He grasped the reins 
and the stirrup. 

"Were there many robbers in the band?" said a handsome, 
dark yoimg man, stepping forward from the door of the inn. 

"As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the estafette, 
springing into the saddle. 

" Ai'e they cruel to travellers?" said a beautiful young Vene- 
tian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's arm. 

" Cruel, signora!" echoed the estafette, giving a glance at the 
lady as he put spurs to his horse. ^^ Corpo del Bacco! they 
stiletto aU the men, and as to the women " 

Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! — the last words were 
drowned in the smacking of the whip, and away galloped the 
estafette along the road to the Pontine marshes. 

"Holy Virgin!" ejaculated the fair Venetian, "what wiU 
become of us !" 

The inn of Terracina stands just outside of the walls of the 
old town of that name, on the frontiers of the Roman territory. 
A httle, lazy, Italian town, the inhabitants of which, apparently 
heedless and listless, are said to be little better than the brig- 
ands which surround them, and indeed are half of them sup- 
posed to be in some way or other connected with the robbers. 
A vast, rocky height rises perpendicularly above it, with the 
ruins of the castle of Theodoric the Groth, crowning its summit; 
before it spreads the wide bosom of the Mediterranean, that sea 
without flux or reflux. There seems an idle pause in every 
thing about this place. The port is without a safl, excepting 
that once in a v/hile a sohtary felucca may be seen, disgorging 
its holy cargo of baccala, the meagre provision for the Qua- 
resima or Lent. The naked watch towers, rising here and 



156 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

there along the coast, speak of pirates and corsairs which hover 
about these shores : while the low huts, as stations for soldiers, 
which dot the distant road, as it winds through an ohve grove, 
intimate that in the ascent there is danger for the traveller and 
facihty for the bandit. 

Indeed, it is between this town and Fondi that the road to 
Naples is mostly infested by banditti. It winds among rocky 
and solitary places, where the robbers are enabled to see the 
traveller from a distance from the brows of hills or impending 
precipices, and to he in wait for him, at the lonely and difficult 
passes. 

At the time that the estafette made this sudden appearance, 
almost in cuerpo, the audacity of the robbers had risen to an 
unparalleled height. They had their spies and emissaries in 
every town, village, and osteria, to give them notice of the 
quahty and movements of travellers. They did not scruple to 
send messages into the country towns and villas, demanding 
certain sums of money, or articles of dress and luxury ; with 
menaces of vengeance in case of refusal. They had plundered 
carriages ; carried people of rank and fortune into the moun- 
tains and obliged them to write for heavy ransoms ; and had 
committed outrages on females who had fallen in their power. 

The police exerted its rigor in vain. The brigands were too 
nmnerous and powerful for a weak police. They were counten- 
anced and cherished by several of the villages; and though 
now and then the limbs of malefactors hung blackening in the 
trees near which they had committed some atrocity ; or their 
heads stuck upon posts in iron cages made some dreary part of 
the road still more dreary, still they seemed to strike dismay 
into no bosom but that of the traveller. 

The dark, handsome young man, and the Venetian lady, 
whom I have mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in a 
private carriage, drawn by mules and attended by a single 
servant. They had been recently married, were spending the 
honeymoon in travelling through these delicious countries, and 
were on their way to visit a rich aunt of the young lady's at 
Naples. 

The lady was young, and tender and timid. The stories she 
had heard along the road had filled her with apprehension, not 
more for herself than for her husband; for though she had 
been married almost a month, she still loved him almost to 
idolatry. When she reached Terracina the rumors of the road 
had increased to an alarming magnitude ; and the sight of two 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 157 

robbers' skulls grinning in iron cages on each side of the old 
gateway of the town brought her to a pause. Her husband 
had tried in vain to reassure her. They had hngered ?vll the 
afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of starting 
that evening, and the parting words of the estafette completed 
her affright. 

" Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her arm within 
her husband's, and drawing towards him as if for protection — 
" let us return to Rome and give up this visit to Naples." 

" And give up the visit to your aunt, too," said the husband. 

"Nay — what is .my aunt in comparison with your safety," 
said she, looking up tenderly in his face. 

There was something in her tone and manner that showed 
she really was thinking more of her husband's safety at that 
moment than of her own ; and being recently married, and a 
match of pure affection, too, it is very possible that she was. 
At least her husband thought so. Indeed, any one who has 
heard the sweet, musical tone of a Venetian voice, and the 
melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft 
witchery of a Venetian eye, Avould not wonder at the hus- 
band's believing whatever they professed. 

He clasped the white hand that had been laid within his, put 
his arm round her slender waist, and drawing her fondly to his 
bosom— "This night at least," said he, "we'll pass at Ter- 
racina." 

Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack! 

Another apparition of the road attracted the attention of 
mine host and his guests. From the road across the Pontine 
marshes, a carriage drawn by half a dozen horses, came driv- 
ing at a furious pace— the postillions smacking their whips like 
mad, as is the case when conscious of the greatness or the 
munificence of their fare. It was a landaulet, with a servant 
mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly finished, yet 
proudly simple construction of the carriage ; the quantity of 
neat, well-arranged trunks and conveniences ; the loads of box 
coats and upper benjamins on the dickey — and the fresh, burly, 
gruff -looking face at the window, proclaimed at once that it 
was the equipage of an Englishman. 

"Fresh horses to Fondi," said the Enghshman, as the land- 
lord came bowing to the carriage door. 

"Would not his ExceUenza alight and take some refresh- 
ment?" 

"No — he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi!" 



158 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

" But tlie horses will be some time in getting ready—" 

"Ah— that's always the case— nothing but delay in this 
cursed country." 

" If his Excellenza would only walk into the house—" 

"No, no, no!— I tell you no!— I want nothing but horses, 
and as quick as possible. John ! see that the horses are got 
ready, and don't let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him 
if we're delayed over the time, I'll lodge a complaint with the 
postmaster." 

John touched his hat, and set oJff to obey his master's orders, 
with the taciturn obedience of an Enghsh servant. He was a 
ruddy, round-faced fellow, with hair cropped close; a short 
coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters; and appeared to have 
almost as much contempt as his master for everything around 
him. 

In the mean time the Englishman got out of the carriage and 
walked up and down before the inn, with his hands in his 
pockets: taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were 
gazing at him and his equipage. He was tall, stout, and weU 
made • dressed with neatness and precision, wore a traveUing- 
cap of the color of gingerbread, and had rather an unhappy 
expression about the corners of his mouth; partly from not 
having yet made his dinner, and partly from not having been 
able to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. 
Not that he had any other cause for haste than an English- 
man's usual hurry to get to the end of a journey; or, to use 
the regular phrase, " to get on." 

After some time the servant returned from the stable with 
as sour a look as his master. 

"Are the horses ready, John?" 

"No, sir— I never saw such a place. There's no getting any- 
thing done. I think your honor had better step into the house 
and get something to eat ; it will be a long while before we get 
to Fundy." 

" D n the house— it's a mere trick— I'll not eat anything, 

just to spite them," said the Enghshman, still more crusty at 
the prospect of being so long without his dinner. 

"They say your honor's very wrong," said John, " to set off 
at this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen." 

" Mere tales to get custom." 

"The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole 
gang," said John, increasing his emphasis with each additional 
piece of information. 



TEE INN AT TEBBACINA. 159 

*' I don't believe a word of it." • 

" They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving at the 
same time a hitch to his own waist-band. 

"All humbug!" 

Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward and 
addressing the Englishman very pohtely in broken English, 
invited him to partake of a repast he was about to make. 
" Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands deeper 
into his pockets, and casting a slight side glance of suspicion at 
the young man, as if he thought from his civility he must have 
a design upon his purse. 

" We shall be most happy if you will do us that favor," said 
the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a sweetness 
in her accents that was most persuasive. The Enghshman cast 
a look upon her countenance ; her beauty was still more elo- 
quent. His features instantly relaxed. He made an attempt 
at a civil bow. "With great pleasure, signora," said he. 

In short, the eagerness to "get on" was suddenly slackened; 
the determination to famish himself as far as Fondi by way of 
punishing the landlord was abandoned; John chose the best 
apartment in the inn for his master's reception, and prepara- 
tions were made to remain there until morning. 

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as were 
indispensable for the night. There was the usual parade of 
trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios, and dressing-boxes, 
and those other oppressive conveniences which burden a com- 
fortable man. The observant loiterers about the inn door, 
wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks, with only a hawk's 
eye uncovered, made many remarks to each other on this 
quantity of luggage that seemed enough for an army. And 
the domestics of the inn talked with wonder of the splendid 
dressing-case, with its gold and silver furniture that was 
spread out on the toilette table, and the bag of gold that 
chinked as it was taken out of the trunk. The strange 
" Milor's" wealth, and the treasures he carried about liim, were 
the talk, that evening, over all Terracina. 

The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions and 
arrange his dress for table, and after considerable labor and 
effort in putting himself at his ease, made his appearance, with 
stiff white cravat, his clothes free from the least speck of dust, 
and adjusted with precision. He made a formal bow on enter- 
ing, which no doubt he meant to be cordial, but which any one 
else would have considered cool^ and took his seat. 



160 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The supper, as it was termed by the Itahan, or dinner, as the 
EngHshman called it, was now served. Heaven and earth, and 
the waters under the earth, had been moved to furnish it, for 
there were birds of the air and beasts of the earth and fish of 
the sea. The Englisliman's servant, too, had turned the 
kitchen topsy-turvy in his zeal to cook his master a beefsteak ; 
and made his appeara^nce loaded with ketchup, and soy, and 
Cayenne pepper, and Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine, 
*Tom that warehouse, the carriage, in which his master seemed 
desirous of carrying England about the world with him. 
Every thing, however, according to the Enghshman, was 
execrable. The tureen of soup was a black sea, with livers 
and hmbs and fragments of all kinds of birds and beasts, float- 
ing like wrecks about it. A meagre winged anunal, wliich my 
host called a delicate chicken, was too delica^te for his stomach, 
for it had evidently died of a consumption. The macaroiii was 
smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh, and the 
countenance of mine host confirmed the assertion. Nothing 
seemed to hitliis palate but a dish of stewed eels, of which he 
ate with great relish, but had nearly refunded them when told 
that they were vipers, caught among the rocks of Terracina, 
and esteemed a great delicacy. 

In short, the Englishman ate and growled, and ate and 
growled, like a cat eating in company, pronouncing himself 
poisoned by every dish, yet eating on in defiance of death and 
the doctor. The Venetian lady, not accustomed t>o English 
travellers, almost repented having persuaded him to the meal; 
for though very gracious to her, he was so crusty to all the 
world beside, that she stood in awe of him. There is nothing, 
however, that conquers John Bull's crustiness sooner than eat- 
ing, whatever may be the cookery; and nothing brings him 
into good humor with his company sooner than eating together ; 
the Englishman, therefore, had not half finished his repast and 
his bottle, before he began to think the Venetian a very tolera- 
ble fellow for a foreigner, and his wife almost handsome enough 
to be an Englishwoman. 

In the course of the repast the tales of robbers wliich har- 
assed the mind of the' fair Venetian, were brought into discus- 
sion. The landlord and the waiter served up such a number of 
them as they served up the dishes, that they almcr t frightened 
away the poor lady's appetite. Among these was the story of 
the school of Terracina, still fresh in every mind, where the 
students were carried up the mountains by the banditti, in 



THE INN AT TEBRACINA. XQl 

hopes of ransom, and one of them massacred, to bring the 
parents to terms for the others. There was a story also of a 
gentleman of Eome, who delayed remitting the ransom 
demanded for his son, detained by the banditti, and received 
one of his son's ears in a letter with information that the other 
would be remitted to him soon, if the money were not forth- 
coming, and that in this way he would receive the boy by in- 
stalments until he came to terms. 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales. The 
landlord, hke a true story-teller, doubled the dose when he 
saw how it operated. He was just proceeding to relate the 
misfortunes of a great Enghsh lord and his family, when the 
Enghshman, tired of his volubility, testily interrupted him, 
and pronounced these accounts mere traveller's tales, or the 
exaggerations of peasants and innkeepers. The landlord was 
indignant at the doubt levelled at his stories, and the iimuendo 
levelled at his cloth ; he cited half a dozen stories still more 
terrible, to corroborate those he had already told. 

"I don't believe a word of them," said the Englishman. 

"But the robbers had been tried and executed." 

"All a farce !" 

" But their heads were stuck up along the road." ' 

" Old skulls accumulated during a century." 

The landlord muttered to hunself as he went out at the door, 
"San Genaro, come sono singolari questi Inglesi." 

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of 
more travellers; and from the variety of voices, or rather 
clamors, the clattering of horses' hoofs, the rattling of wheels, 
and the general uproar both within and without, the arrival 
seemed to be numerous. It was, in fact, the procaccio, and its 
convoy — a kind of caravan of merchandise, that sets out on 
stated days, under an escort of soldiery to protect it from the 
robbers. Travellers avail themselves of the occasion, and many 
carriages accompany the procaccio. It was a long time before 
either landlord or waiter returned, being hurried away by the 
tempest of new custom. When mine host appeared, there was 
a smile of triumph on his countenance. — " Perhaps, " gaid he, 
as he cleared away the table, "perhaps the signer has not 
heard of what has happened," 

"What ?" said the Enghshman, drily. 

"Oh, the procaccio has arrived, and has brought accounts of 
fresh exploits of the robbers, signer." 

"Pish!" 



162 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

''There's more news oi the Enghsh Milor and his family," 
said the host, emphatically. 

"An Enghsh lord.— What English lord ?" 

"MHorPopkin." 

"Lord Popkin? I never heard of such a title !" 

"O Sicuro — a great nobleman that passed through here 
lately with his Milady and daughters — a magnifico — one of the 
grand councillors of London — un aimanno. " 

" Aimanno — aimanno?— tut ! he means alderman." 

"Sicuro, aldermanno Popkin, and the principezza Popkin, 
and the signorina Popkin !" said mine host, triumphantly. He 
would now have entered into a full detail, but was thwarted 
by the Englishman, who seemed determined not to credit or 
indulge him in his stories. An Itahan tongue, however, is not 
easily checked : that of mine host continued to run on with 
increasing volubility as he conveyed the fragments of the 
repast out of the room, and the last that could be distmguished 
of his voice, as it died av/ay along the corridor, was the con- 
stant recurrence of the favorite v/ord Popkin— Popkin— Pop- 
kin — pop— pop — pop. 

The arrival of the procaccio had indeed filled the house with 
stories as it had with guests. The Englishman and his com- 
panions walked out after supper into the great hall, or com- 
mon room of the inn, wliich runs through the centre building; 
a gloomy, dirty-looking apartment, with tables placed in vari- 
ous parts of it, at which some of the travellers were seated in 
groups, while others strolled about in famished impatience for 
their evening's meal. As the procaccio was a kind of caravan 
of travellers, there were people of every class and country, who 
had come in all kinds of vehicles ; and though they kept in 
some measure in separate parties, yet the being united under 
one common escort had jumbled them into companionship on 
the road. Their formidable number and the formidable guard 
that accompanied them, had prevented any molestation from 
the banditti; but every carriage had its tale of wonder, and 
one vied with another in the recital. Not one but had seen 
groups of robbers peering over the rocks ; or their guns peeping 
out from among the bushes, or had been reconnoitred by some 
suspicious-looking fellow with scowling eye, who disappeared 
on seeing the guard. 

The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that eager 
curiosity with which we seek to pamper any feeling of alarm. 
Even the Englishman began to feel interested in the subject. 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 163 

and desirous of gaining more correct information than these 
mere flying reports. He mingled in one of the groups which 
appeared to be the most respectable, and which was assembled 
round a tall, thin person, with long Roman nose, a high fore- 
head, and lively prominent eye, beaming from under a green 
velvet travelling-cap with gold tassel. He was holding forth 
with all the fluency of a man who talks well and likes to exert 
his talent. He was of Rome ; a surgeon by profession, a poet 
by choice, and one who Avas something of an improwisatore. 
He soon gave the Englishman abundance of information 
respecting the banditti. ' ' The fact is, " said he, ' ' that many of 
the people in the villages among the mountains are robbers, or 
rather the robbers find perfect asylum among them. They 
range over a vast extent of wild impracticable country, along 
the chain of Apennines, bordering on different states; they 
know all the diflicult passes, the short cuts and strong-holds. 
They are secure of the good-will of the poor and peaceful 
inhabitants of those regions, whom they never disturb, and 
whom they often enrich. Indeed, they are looked upon as a 
sort of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and 
some of the frontier towns, where they dispose of their 
plunder. From these mountains they keep a look-out upon 
the plains and valleys, and meditate their descents. 

" The road to Fondi, which you are shout to travel, is one of 
the places most noted for their exploits. It is overlooked from 
some distance by little hamlets, perched upon heights. From 
hence, the brigands, like hawks in their nests, keep on the 
watch for such travellers as are lil^ely to afford either booty or 
ransom. The windings of the road enable them to see carria^ges 
long before they pass, so that they have time to get to some 
advantageous lurking-place from whence to pounce upon their 
prey." 

"But why does not the police interfere and root them out?" 
said the Englishman. 

"The pohce is too week and the banditti are too strong," 
rephed the improwisatore. "To root them out would be a 
more difficult task than you imagine. They are connected and 
identified with the people of the villages and the peasantry 
generally ; the numerous bands have an understanding with 
each other, and with people of various conditions in all parts 
of the country. They know all that is going on ; a gens d^armes 
cannot stir without their being aware of it. They have their 
spies and emissaries in every direction ; they lurk about towns,. 



164 TALES OF A TBAVELLini 

villages, inns,— mingle in every crowd, pervade every place of 
resort. I should not be surprised," said he, "if some one 
should be supervising us at this moment." 

The fair Venetian looked round fearfully and turned pale. 

" One peculiarity of the Italian banditti" continued the im- 
provvisatore, " is that they wear a kind of uniform, or rather 
costume, which designates their x^rofession. This is probably 
done to take away from its skulking lawless character, and to 
give it something of a military air in the eyes of the common 
people ; or perhaps to catch by outward dash aE.d show the 
fancies of the young men of the villages. These dresses or cos- 
tumes are often rich and fanciful. Some v/ear jackets and 
breeches of bright colors, richly embroidered; broad belts of 
cloth ', or sashes of silk net ; broad, liigh-crowned hats, decor- 
ated Avith feathers of variously-colored ribbands, and silk nets 
for the hair. 

"Many of the robbers are peasants who follow ordinary 
occupations in the villages for a part of the year, and take to 
the mountains for the rest. Some only go out for a season, as 
it were, on a hunting expedition, and then resume the dress 
and habits of common life. Many of the young men of the 
villages take to this kind of life occasionally from a mere love 
of adventure, the wild wandering spirit of youth and the con- 
tagion of bad example ; but it is remarked that they can never 
after brook a long continuance in settled life. They get fond 
of the unbounded freedom and rude license they enjoy; and 
there is something in tliis wild mountain life checquered by 
adventure and peril, that is wonderfully fascinating, inde- 
pendent of the gratificatin of cupidity by the plunder of the 
wealthy traveller." 

Here the improwisatore was interrupted by a lively Nea- 
pohtan lawyer. "Your mention of the younger robbers," said 
he, "puts me in mind of an adventure of a learned doctor, a 
friend of mine, which happened in this very neighborhood." 

A wish was of course expressed to hear the adventure of the 
doctor by all except the improwisatore, who, being fond of 
talking and of hearing himself talk, and accustomed moreover 
to harangue without interruption, looked rather annoyed at 
being checked when in full career. 

The Neapolitan, however, took no notice of his chagrin, but 
relate<l the following anecdote. -« 



TEE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 165 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 

My friend the doctor was a thorough antiquary: a httle, 
rusty, musty old feUow, always groping among ruins. He 
relished a building as you Englishmen relish a cheese, the more 
mouldy and crumbling it was, the more it was to his taste. A 
shell of an old nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a 
broken-down amphitheatre, would throw him into raptures; 
and he took more delight in these crusts and cheese parings of 
antiquity than in the best-conditioned modern edifice. 

He had taken a maggot into his brain at one time to hunt 
after the ancient cities of the Pelasgi which are said to exist to 
this day among the mountains of the Abruzzi ; but the condi- 
tion of which is strangely unknown to the antiquaries. It is 
said that he had made a great many valuable notes and mem- 
orandums on the subject, which he always carried about with 
him, either for the purpose of frequent reference, or because 
he feared the precious documents might faU into the hands of 
brother antiquaries. He had therefore a large pocket behind, 
in which he carried them, banging against his rear as he 
walked. 

Be this as it may; happening to pass a few days at Terracina, 
in the course of his researches, he one day mounted the rocky 
cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodoric. 
He was groping about these ruins, towards the hour of sunset, 
buried in his reflections, — his wits no doubt wool-gathering 
among the Goths and Romans, when he heard footsteps behind 
Mm. 

He turned and beheld five or six young fellows, of rough, 
saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half peasant, half 
huntsman, with fusils in their hands. Their whole appearance 
and carriage left him in no doubt into what company he had 
fallen. 

The doctor was a feeble httle man poor in look and poorer 
in purse. He had but little money in his pocket; but he had 
certain voiuables, such as an old silver watch, thick as a tur- 
nip, with figures on it large enough for a clock, and a set of 
seals at the end of a steel chain, that dangled half down to his 
knees ; aU which were of precious esteem, being family reliques. 
He had also a seal ring, a veritable antique intaglio, that 
covered half his knuckles ; but what he most valued was, the 



IQQ TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

precious treatise on the Pelasgian cities, which he woiiLd gladly 
have given all the money in his pocket to have had safe at the 
bottom of his trunk in Terracina. 

However, he phicked up a stout heart ; at least as stout a 
heart as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little man at 
the best of times. So he wished the hunters a " buon giorno." 
They returned his salutation, giving the old gentleman a 
sociable slap on the back that made his heart leap into his 
throat. 

They fell into convesation, and walked for some time to- 
gether among the heights, the doctor wishing them aU the 
while at the bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At length they 
came to a small osteria on the mountain, where they proposed 
to enter and have a cup of wine together. The doctor con- 
sented; though he would as soon have been invited to drink 
hemlock. 

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; the others 
swaggered into the house ; stood their fusils in a corner of the 
room ; and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid 
it, with some emi)hasis, on the table. They now caUed lustily 
for wine ; drew benches round the table, and hailing the doc- 
tor as though he had been a boon comx^anion of long standing, 
insisted upon his sitting down and making merry. He com- 
plied with forced grimace, but with fear and trembhng ; sitting 
on the edge of his bench ; supi^ing down heartburn with every 
drop of hquor ; eyeing ruefully the black muzzled pistols, and 
cold, naked stilettos. They pushed the bottle bravely, and 
plied him vigorously; sang, laughed, told excellent stories of 
robberies and combats, and the little doctor was fain to laugh 
at these cut-throat pleasantries, though his heart was dying 
away at the very bottom of his bosom. 

By their own account they were young men from the vil- 
lages, who had recently taken up this line of life in the mere 
vild caprice of youth. They talked of their exploits as a sports- 
man talks of his amusements. To shoot down a traveller 
seemed of little more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. 
They spoke Avith rapture of the glorious roving life they led ; 
free as birds; hereto-day, gone to-morrow ; ranging the forests, 
chmbing the rocks, scouring the valleys ; the world their own 
wherever they could lay hold of it ; full purses, mery compan- 
ions; pretty women. — The little antiquary got fuddled with 
their talk and their wine, for they did not spare bumpers. He 
haK forgot his fears, his seal ring, and his family watch ; even 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 167 

the treatise on the Pelasgian cities which was warming under 
him, iov a time faded from his memory, in the glowing picture 
which they drew. He declares that he no longer wonders at 
the prevalence of this rohber mania among the mountains ; for 
he felt at the time, that had he been a young man and a strong 
man, and had there been no danger of the galleys in the back- 
ground, he should have been half tempted himself to turn 
bandit. 

At length the fearful hour of separating arrived. The doc- 
tor was suddenly called to himself and his fears, by seeing the 
robbers resume their weapons. He now quaked for his valu- 
ables, and above all for his antiquarian treatise. He endeav- 
ored, however, to look cool and unconcerned ; and drew from 
out of his deep pocket a long, lank, leathern purse, far gone in 
consumption, at the bottom of which a few coin chinked with 
the trembling of his hand. 

The chief of the party observed this movement ; and laying 
his hand upon the antiquary's shoulder — " Harkee ! Signor Dot- 
tore!" said he, "we have drank together as friends and com- 
rades, let us part as such. We understand you ; we know who 
and what you are ; for we know who every body is that sleeps 
at Terracina, or that puts foot upon the road. You are a rich 
man, but you carry all your wealth in your head. We can't 
get at it, and we should not know what to do with it, if we 
could. I see you are uneasy about your ring ; but don't worry 
your mind ; it is not worth taking ; you think it an antique, 
but it's a counterfeit— a mere sham." 

Here the doctor would have put in a word, for his antiqua- 
rian pride was touched. 

" Nay, nay," continued the other, " we've no time to dispute 
about it. Value it as you please. Come, you are a brave little 
old signor — one more cup of wine and we'll pay the reck- 
oning. No compliments— I insist on it. So— now make the 
best of your way back to Terracina ; it's growing late— buono 
viaggio !— and harkee, take care how you wander among these 
mountains." 

They shouldered their fusils, sprang gai / up the rocks, and 
the little doctor hobbled back to Terracini, rejoicing that the 
robbers had let his seal ring, his wa( h, and his trea^tise escape 
unmolested, though rather nettled that tliQj should have pro- 
nounced his veritable intaglio a counterfeit. 

The improwisatore had shown many symptoms of impa- 
tience during this recital. He saw his theme in danger of being 



168 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

taken out of his hands by a rival story-teller, which to an able 
talker is always a serious grievance ; it was also in danger of 
being taken away by a Neapolitan, and that was still more 
vexatious ; as the members of the different Itahan states have 
an incessant jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. 
He took advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to catch 
hold again of the thread of the conversation. 

"As I was saying," resumed he, "the prevalence of these 
banditti is so extensive ; their power so combined and inter- 
woven with other ranks of society — " 

" For that matter," said the Neapolitan, " I have heard that 
your government has had some understanding with these gen- 
try, or at least winked at them." 

"My government?" said the Eoman, impatiently. 

" Aj^e— they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi— " 

" Hush ! " said the Eoman, holding up his finger, and rolling 
his la.rge eyes about the room. 

"Nay^I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored in 
Eome," replied the other, sturdilj?-. "It was whispered that 
the Cardinal had been up to the mountain, and had an inter- 
view with some of the chiefs. And I have been told that when 
honest people have been kicking their heels in the Cardinal's 
anti-cham_ber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one of these 
stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his wa.y through the crowd, 
and entered without ceremony into the Cardinal's presence. 

"I know," replied the Eoman, "that there have been such 
reports ; and it is net impossible that government may have 
made use of these men at particular periods, such as at the 
time of your abortive revolution, when your carbonari were so 
busy with their machinations all over the country. The infor- 
mation that men like these could collect, who were familiar, 
not merely v^ith all the recesses and secret places of the moun- 
tains, but also with all the dark and dangerous recesses of so- 
ciety, and knew all that was plotting in the vforld of mischief; 
the utility of such instruments in the hands of government was 
too obvious to be overlooked, and Cardinal Gonsalvi as a politic 
statesman, may, perhaps, have made use of them ; for it is well 
known the robbers, with all their atrocities, are respectful to- 
wards the church, and devout in their religion." 

"Eeligion! — rehgion?" echoed the Englishman. 

' ' Yes — ^religion !" repeated the improvvisatore. ' ' Scarce one 
of them but will cross himself and say his prayers when he 
]ioars in his mountain fastness the matin o"r the ave maria bells 



TllK ADVENTURI^ OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 169 

sounding from the valleys. They will often confess themselves 
to the village priests, to obtain absolution; and occasionally 
visit the village churches to pray at some favorite shrine. I 
recollect an instance in point : I was one evening in the village 
of Frescati, which hes below the mountains of Abruzzi. The 
people, as usual in fine evenings in our Italian towns and vil- 
lages, were standing about in groups in the public square, con- 
versing and amusing themselves. I observed a tall, muscular 
fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing across the square, 
but skulking along in the dark, as if avoiding notice. The 
people, ^too, seemed to draw back as he passed. It was whisp- 
pered to me that he was a notorious bandit." 

"But why was he not inunediately seized?" said the English- 
man. 

"Because it was nobody's business; because nobody wished 
to incur the vengeance of his comrades ; because there were 
not sufl&cient gens d^armes near to insure security against the 
numbers of desperadoes he might have at hand ; because the 
gens (Tarines might not have received particular instructions 
with respect to hun, and might not feel disposed to engage in 
the hazardous conflict without compulsion. In short, I might 
give you a thousand reasons, rising out of the state of our gov- 
ernment and manners, not one of which after all might appear 
satisfactory." 

The Englishman shrugged his shoulders with an air of con- 
tempt. 

"I have been told," added the Eoman, rather quicklj^, "that 
even in your metropolis of London, notorious thieves, well 
known to the police as such, walk the streets at noon-day, in 
search of their prey, and are not molested unless caught in the 
very act of robbery." 

The Englishman gave another shrug, but with a different 
expression. 

" Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring wolf thus prowling 
through the fold, and sa.w him enter a church. I was curious 
to witness his devotions. You know our spacious, magnificent 
churches. The one in which he entered was vast and shrouded 
in the dusk of evening. At the extremity of the long aisles a 
couple of tapers feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one 
of the side chapels was a votive candle placed before the image 
of a saint. Before this image the robber had prostrated him- 
self. His mantle partly falling off from his shoulders as he 
knelt, revealed a form of Herculean strength ; a stiletto and 



170 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

pistol glittered in Ms belt, and the light falling on his counten- 
ance showed features not unhandsome, but strongly and fiercely 
charactered. As he prayed he became vehemently agitated ; his 
hps quivered ; sighs and murmurs, almost groans burst from 
him ; he beat his breast with violence, then clasped his hands 
and wrung them convulsively as he extended them towards the 
image. Never had I seen such a terrific picture of remorse. 
I felt fearful of being discovered by him, and withdrew. 
Shortly after I saw him issue from the church wrapped in 
his mantle ; he recrossed the square, and no doubt returned to 
his mountain with disburthened conscience, ready to Incur a 
fresh arrear of crime." 

The conversation was here taken up by two other travellers, 
recently arrived, Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a hnen-draper 
and a green-grocer, just returning from a tour in Greece and 
the Holy Land : and who were full of the story of Alderman 
Popkins. They were astonished that the robbers should dare 
to molest a man of his importance on 'change ; he being an emi- 
nent dry-salter of Throgmorton street, and a magistrate to 
boot. 

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too true ; it 
was attested by too many present to be for a moment doubted ; 
and from the contradictory and concordant testimony of half 
a score, all eager to relate it, the company were enabled to 
make out all the particulars. 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. 

It was but a few days before that the carriage of Alderman 
Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina. Those who 
have seen an English family carriage on the continent, must 
know the sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England ; 
a little morsel of the old island rolhng about the world — every 
thing so compact, so snug, so finished and fitting. The wheels 
that roU on patent axles without rattling; the body that hangs 
so well on its springs,, yielding to every motion, yet proof 
against every shock. The ruddy faces gaping out of the win- 
dows ; sometimes of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a vol- 
uminous dowager, and sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden, just 
from boarding school. And then the dickeys loaded with weU- 



THE ABVEITTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. 171 

dressed servants, beef -fed and bluff ; looking down from their 
heights with contempt on all the world around ; profoundly 
ignorant of the country and the people, and devoutly certain 
that every thing not English must be wrong. 

Such was the carriage of Alderman Poi)kins, as it made its 
appearance at Terracina. The courier who had preceded it, to 
order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnifi- 
cent account of the riches and greatness of his master, blunder- 
ing with all an Italian's splendor of imagination about the aider - 
man's titles and dignities ; the host had added his usual share 
of exaggeration, so that by the tune the alderman drove up to 
the door, he was Milor — Magnifico — Principe— the Lord knows 
what! 

The alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi and 
Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man's life was worth, 
he said, to stop him on the king's highway ; he would complain 
of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he would make a national 
affair of it. The princlpezza Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, 
seemed perfectly secure in the protection of her husband, so 
omnipotent a man in the city. The signorini Popkins, two fine 
bouncing giils, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken 
lessons in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he was sure no 
scaramouch of an Italian robber would dare to meddle with an 
Enghshman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders and turned 
out the palms of liis hands with a true Italian grimace, and the 
carriage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 

They passed through several very suspicious places without 
any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were very roman- 
tic, and had learnt to draw in water colors, were enchanted 
with the savage scenery around ; it was so like v^hat they had 
read in Mrs. Eadcliffe's romances, they should like of aU things 
to make sketches. At length, the carriage arrived at a place 
where the road wound up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk 
into a sleep ; the young ladies were reading the last works of 
Sir Walter Scott and Lord Byron, and the dandy was hectoring 
the postilions from the coach box. The Alderman got out, as 
he said, to stretch his legs up the hill. It was a long winding 
ascent, and obliged hun every now and then to stop and blow 
and wipe his forehead with many a pish! and phew! being 
rather pursy and short of wind. As the carriage, however, was 
far behind him, and toiling slowly under the weight of so many 
well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travellers, he had plenty of 
time to walk at leisure. 



172 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

On a jutting point of rock that overhung the road nearly at 
the summit oi the hill, just where the route began again to 
descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared to be 
tending goats. Alderman Popkins was one of your shrewd 
travellers that always hke to be picking up small information 
along the road, so he thought he'd just scramble up to the 
honest man, and have a little talk with him by way of learning 
the news and getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to 
the peasant he did not half like his looks. He was partly re- 
clining on the rocks Avrapped in the usual long mantle, which, 
with his slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy visage, 
with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce moustache to 
be seen. He had whistled several times to his dog which was 
roving about the side of the hill. As the Alderman approached 
he rose and greeted him. When standing erect he seemed 
almost gigantic, at least in the eyes of Alderman Popkins ; who, 
however, being a short man, might be deceived. 

The latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, 
or even on 'change in London, for he was by no means well 
pleased with his company. However, he determined to put the 
best face on matters, and was beginning a conversation about 
the state of the weather, the baddishness of the crops, and the 
price of goats in that part of the country, when he heard a vio- 
lent screaming. He ran to the edge of the rock, and, looking 
over, saw away down the road his carriage sui-rounded by rob- 
bers. One held dov^n the fat footman, another had the dandy 
by his starched cravat, with a pistol to his head ; one was rum- 
maging a portmanteau, another rummaging the principezza's 
pockets, while the two Misses Popkins were screaming from 
each window of the carriage, and their waiting maid squalling 
from the dickey. 

Alderman Popkins felt all the fury of the parent and the 
magistrate roused within hun. He grasped his cane and was 
on the point of scrambling down the rocks, either to assault 
the robbers or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly 
grasped by the arm. It was by his friend the goatherd, whose 
cloak, falling partly off, discovered a belt stuck full of pistols 
and stilettos. In short, he found himself in the clutches of the 
captain of the band, who had stationed himself on the rock to 
look out for travellers and to give notice to his men. 

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned inside 
out, and all the finery and the frippery of the Popkins family 
scattered about the road. Such a chaos of Venice beads and 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE F0FEIN8 FAMILY. 173 

Roman mosaics ; and Paris bonnets of the young ladies, min- 
gled with the alderman's night-caps and lamb's wool stockings, 
and the dandy's hair-brushes, stays, and starched cravats. 

The g.ontlemen were eased of their purses and their watches ; 
the ladies of their jewels, and the whole party were on the 
point of being carried up into the mountain, when fortunately 
the appearance of soldiery at a distance obliged the robbers to 
make off with the spoils they had secured, and leave the Pop- 
kins family to gather together the remnants of their effects, 
and make the best of their way to Fondi. 

When safe arrived, the alderman made a terrible blustering 
at the inn ; threatened to complain to the ambassador at Naples, 
and was ready to shake his cane at the whole country. The 
dandy had many stories to tell of his scufaes with the brigands, 
Avho overpowered him merely by numbers. As to the Misses 
Popkins, they were quite delighted with the adventure, and 
were occupied the whole evening in writing it in their journals. 
They declared the captain of the band to be a most romantic- 
looking man; they dared to say some unfortunate lover, or 
exiled nobleman: and several of the band to be very handsome 
young men— " quite picturesque !" 

"In verity," said mine host of Terracina, "they say the cap- 
tain of the band is un galant iiomo. " 

' ' A gallant man ! " said the Englishman. ' ' I'd have your gal- 
lant m^an hang'd like a dog! " 

"To dare to meddle with Englishmen!" said Mr. Hobbs. 

"And such a family as the Popkinses ! " said Mr. Dobbs. 

"They ought to come upon the country for damages!" said 
Mr. Hobbs. 

"Our ambassador should make a complaint to the govern- 
ment of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs. 

"They should be requested to drive these rascals out of the 
country," said Hobbs. 

"If they did not, we should declare war against them!" said 
Dobbs. 

The Englishman was a little wearied by this story, and by 
the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was glad when a sum- 
mons to their supper relieved him from a crowd of travellers. 
He v^alked out with his Venetian friends and a young French- 
man of an interesting demeanor, who had become social^le with 
them in the course of the conversation. They directed their 
steps toward the sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. 
The Venetian, out of politeness, left his beautiful wife to be es- 



174 TALES OF A TEA VELLER 

corted by the Englishman. The latter, however, either from 
shyness or reserve, did not avail himself of the civihty, but 
walked on without oif ering his arm. The fair Venetian, with 
all her devotion to her husband, was a little nettled at a want 
of gallantry to v\^hich her charms had rendered her unaccus- 
tomed, and took the proffered arm of the Frenchman with a 
pretty air of pique, which, however, was entirely lost upon the 
phlegmatic dehnquent. 

Not far distant from the inn they came to where there was a 
body of soldiers on the beach, encircling and guarding a num- 
ber of galley slaves, who vv^ere permitted to refresh themselves 
in the evening breeze, and to sport and roll upon the sand. 

"It was difficult," the Frenchman observed, "to conceive a 
more frightfid mass of crime than was here collected. The 
parricide, the fratricide, the infanticide, who had first fled from 
justice and turned mountain bandit, and then, by betraying his 
brother desperadoes, had bought a commutation of punishment, 
and the privilege of wallowing on the shore for an hour a day, 
with this wretched crew of miscreants !" 

The remark of the Frenclmian had a strong effect upon the 
company, particularly upon the Venetian lady, who shuddered 
as she cast a timid look at this horde of wretches at their 
evening relaxation. "They seemed," she said, "like so many 
serpents, wreathing and twisting together." 

The Frenchman now adverted to the stories they had been 
listening to at the inn, adding, that if they had any further 
curiosity on the subject, he could recount an adventure wliich 
happened to himself among the robbers and which might give 
them some idea of the habits and manners of those beings. 
There was an air of modesty and frankness about the French- 
man which had gained the good- will of the whole party, not 
even excepting the Englishman. They all gladly accepted his 
proposition ; and as they strolled slowly up and down the sea- 
shore, he related the following adventure. 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 

I AM an historical painter by profession, and resided for 
some time in the family of a foreign prince, at his villa, about 
fifteen miles from Rome, among some of the most interesting 
scenery of Italy. It is situated on the heights of ancient Tus- 



THE PAINTERS AI) VENTURE. 175 

culum. In its neigiiborhood are the ruins of the villas of 
Cicero, Sylla, Luculius, Eiifmus, and other illustrious Eomans, 
who sought refuge here occasionally, from their toils, in the 
bosom of a soft and luxurious repose. From the midst of de- 
lightful bowers, refreshed by the pure mountain breeze, the 
eye looks over a romantic landscape full of poetical and histor- 
ical associations. The Albanian mountains, Tivoh, once the 
favorite residence of Horace and Maecenas ; the vast deserted 
Campagna with the Tiber running through it, and St. Peter's 
dome swelling in the midst, the monument— as it were, over 
the grave of ancient Rome. 

I assisted the prince in the researches he was making among 
the classic ruins of his vicinity. His exertions were highly 
successful. Many wrecks of adixdrable statues and fragments 
of exquisite sculpture were dug up; monuments of the taste 
and magnificence that reigned in the ancient Tusculan abodes. 
He had studded his villa and its grounds with statues, relievos, 
vases, and sarcophagi ; thus retrieved from the bosom of the 
earth. 

The mode of life pursued at the villa was delightfully serene, 
diversified by interesting occupations and elegant leisure. 
Every one passed the day according to his pleasure or occupa- 
tion ; and we all assembled in a cheerful dinner party at sun- 
set. It was on the fourth of November, a beautiful serene day, 
that we had assembled in the saloon at tlie sound of the first 
dinner-bell. The family were surprised at the absence of the 
prince's confessor. They waited for him in vain, and at length 
placed themselves at table. They first attributed his absence 
to his having prolonged his customary walk ; and the first part 
of the dinner passed without any uneasiness. When the des- 
sert was served, however, without his making his appearance, 
they began to feel anxious. They feared he might have been 
taken iU in some alley of the woods ; or, that he might have 
fallen into the hands of robbers. At the interval of a smaU 
valley rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, the strong-hold of 
banditti. Indeed, the neigiiborhood had, for some time, been 
infested by them ; and Barbone, a notorious bandit chief, had 
often been met prowling about the sohtudes of Tusculum. The 
daring enterprises of these rufiians were well known ; the ob- 
jects of their cupidity or vengeance were insecure even in 
palaces. As yet they had respected the possessions of the 
prince ; but the idea of such dangerous spirits hovering about 
the neighborhood was sufiicient to occasion alarm. 



476 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 

The fears of the company increased as evening closed in. 
The prince ordered out forest guards, and domestics with flam- 
beaux to search for the confessor. They had not departed long, 
when a slight noise was heard in the corridor of the ground 
floor. The family were dining on the first floor, and the re- 
maining domestics were occupied in actendance. There was 
no one on the groimd floor at this moment but the house- 
keeper, the laundress, and three field laborers, who were rest- 
ing themselves and conversing with the women. 

I heard the noise»from below, and presuming it to be occa- 
sioned by the return of the absentee, I left the table, and has- 
tened down stairs, eager to gain intelligence that might relieve 
the anxiety of the prince and princess. I had scarcely reached 
the last step, when I beheld before me a man dressed as a ban- 
dit ; a carbine in his hand, and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. 
His countenance had a mingled expression of ferocity and 
trepidation. He sprang upon me, and exclaimed exultingly, 
" Ecco il principe !" 

I saw at once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavored 
to. summon up coolness and presence of mind. A glance to- 
wards the lower end of the corridor showed me several ruffians, 
clothed and armed in the same manner with the one who he i 
seized me. They were guarding the two females and the field 
laborers. The robber, who held me firmly by the coUar, de- 
manded repeatedly whether or not I were the prince. His 
object evidently was to carry off the prince, and extort an im- 
mense ransom. He was enraged at receiving none but vague 
replies ; for I felt the importance of misleading him. 

A sudden thought struck me how I might extricate myself 
from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, but I was vigor- 
ous. His companions were at a distance. By a sudden exer- 
tion I might wrest myself from him and spring up the staircase, 
whither he would not dare to foUow me singly. The idea was 
put in execution as soon as conceived. The ruffian's throat 
was bare : with my right hand I seized him by it, just between 
the mastoides ; with my left hand I grasped the arm which 
held the carbine. The suddenness of my attack took him com- 
pletely unawares; and the strangling nature of my grasp 
paralyzed him. He choked and faltered. I felt his hand relax- 
ing its hold, and was on the point of jerking myself away and 
darting up the staircase before he could recover himself, when 
I was suddenly seized by some one from behind. 

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, once more released. 



THE PAINTEES ADVENTURE. I77 

fell upon me with fury, and gave me several blows with the 
butt end of Ms carbine, one of which wounded me severely in 
the forehead, and covered me with blood. He took advantage 
of my being stunned to rifle me of my watch and whatever 
valuables I had about my person. 

When I recovered from the effects of the blow, I heard the 
voice of the chief of the banditti, who exclaimed ''Quello e il 
principe, siamo contente, audiamo !" (It is the prince, enough, 
let us be off.) The band immediately closed round me and 
dragged me out of the palace, bearing off the three laborers 
likewise. 

I had no hat on, and the blood was flowing from my wound ; 
I managed to staunch it, however, with my pocket-handker- 
chief, which I bound round my forehead. The captain of the 
band conducted me in triumph, supposing me to be the prince. 
We had gone some distance before he learnt his mistake from 
one of the laborers. His rage was terrible. It was too late to 
return to the villa and endeavor to retrieve his error, for by 
this time the alarm must have been given, and every one in 
arms. He darted at me a f m'ious look ; swore I had deceived 
him, and caused him to miss his f ortime ; and told me to pre- 
pare for death. The rest of the robbers were equally furious. 
I saw their hands upon their poinards ; and I knew that death 
was seldom an empty menace with these ruffians. 

The laborers saw the peril into which their information had 
betrayed me, and eagerly assured the captain that I was a 
man for whom the prince would pay a great ransom. This 
produced a pause. For my part, I cannot say that I had been 
much dismayed by their menaces. I mean not to make any 
boast of courage ; but I have been so schooled to hardship dur- 
ing the late revolutions, and have beheld death around me in 
so many perilous and disastrous scenes that I have become, in 
some measure callous to its terrors. The frequent hazard of 
life makes a man at length as reckless of it as a gambler of his 
money. To then" threat of death, I replied: "That the sooner 
it was executed, the better." This reply seemed to astonish 
the captain, and the prospect of ransom held out by the laborers, 
had, no doubt, a still greater effect on him. He considered 
for a moment ; assumed a calmer manner, and made a sign to 
his companions, who had remained waiting for my death war- 
rant. ^'Forward,^^ said he, '' we wiU see about this matter by 
and bye." 

We descended rapidly towards the road of la Molara, which 



178 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

leads to Eocca Priori. In the midst of this road is a solitary 
inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a 
pistol shot from it ; and enjoined profound silence. He then 
approached the threshold alone with noiseless steps. He 
examined the outside of the door very narrowly, and then 
returning precipitately, made a sign for the troop to continue 
its march in silence. It has since been ascertained that this 
was one of those infamous inns which are the secret resorts of 
banditti. The innkeeper had an understanding with the cap- 
tain, as he most probably had with the chiefs of the different 
bands. When any of the patroles and gens d'armes were 
quartered at his house, the brigands were warned of it by a 
preconcerted signal on the door; when there was no such 
signal, they might enter with safety and be sure of welcome. 
Many an isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman 
territories, and especially on the skirts of the mountains, have 
the same dangerous and suspicious character. They are 
places where the banditti gather information ; where they con- 
cert their plans, and where the unvN^ary traveller, remote from 
hearing or assistance, is sometimes betrayed to the stiletto of 
the midnight miu-derer. 

After pursumg our road a little farther, we struck off towards 
the woody mountains which envelope Rocca Priori. Our 
march was long and painful, with many circuits and windings; 
at length we clambered a steep ascent, covered with a thick 
forest, and when we had reached the centre, I was told to seat 
myself on the earth. No sooner had I done so, than at a sign 
from their chief, the robbers surrounded me, and spreading 
their great cloaks from one to the other, formed a kind of 
pavihon of mantles, to which their bodies might be said to 
seem as columns. The captain then struck a light, and a flam- 
beau was lit immediately. The mantles were extended to 
prevent the light of the flambeau from being seen through the 
forest. Anxious as was my situation, I could not look round 
upon this screen of dusky drapery, relieved by the bright 
colors of the robbers' under-dresses, the gleaming of their 
weapons, and the variety of strong-marked countenances, lit 
up by the flambeau, without admiring the picturesque effect of 
the scene. It was quite theatrical. 

The captain now held an ink-horn, and giving me pen and 
paper, ordered me to write what he should dictate. I obeyed. 
It was a demand^ couched in. the style of robber eloquence, 
' ' that the Drince should send three thousand doUars for mv ran- 



THE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 179 

som, or that my death should be the consequence of a re- 
fusal." 

I knew enough of the desperate character of these beings to 
feel assured this was not an idle menace. Their only mode of 
insuring attention to their demands, is to make the infliction 
of the penalty inevitable. I saw at once, however, that the 
demand was preposterous, and made in impBoper language. 

I told the captain so, and assured him, that so extrava- 
gant a sum would never be granted; that I was neither 
friend or relative of the -prince, but a mea?e artist, employed to 
execute certain paintings. That I had nothing to offer as a 
ransom but the price of my labors ; if this were not sufficient,- 
my hfe was at their disposal : it was a thing on which I sat but 
little value." 

I was the more hardy in my reply, because I saw that coolness 
and hardihood had an effect upon the robbers. It is true, as I 
finished speaking the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto, 
but he restrained himself, and snatching the letter, folded it, 
and ordered me, in a peremptory tone, to address it to the 
prince. He then despatched one of the laborers with it to 
Tusculum, who promised to return with all possible speed. 

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I was 
told that I might do the same. They spread their great cloaks 
on the ground, and lay down around me. One was stationed 
at a httle distance to keep watch, and was relieved every two 
hours. The strangeness and wildness of this mountain bivouac, 
among lawless beings whose hands seemed ever ready to grasp 
the stiletto, and with whom hfe was so trivial and insecure, 
was enough to banish repose. The coldness of the earth and 
of the dew, however, had a still greater effect than mental 
causes in disturbing my rest. The airs wafted to these moun- 
tains from the distant Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness 
as the night advanced. An expedient suggested itself. I 
called one of my fellow prisoners, the laborers, and made him 
he down beside me. Whenever one of my limbs became chilled 
I approached it to the robust limb of my neighbor, and bor- 
rowed some of his warmth. In this way I was able to obtain a 
Httle sleep. , 

Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my slumber 
by the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise and foUow 
him. I obeyed. On considering his physiognomy attentively, 
it appeared a little softened. He even assisted me in scramb- 
ling up the steep forest am.Qng rocks and brambles, Habit had 



180 TALES OF A TRAVELLER.. 

made him a vigorous mountaineer ; but I found it excessively 
toilsome to climb those rugged heights. We arrived at length 
at the summit of the mountain. 

Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art suddenly 
awakened ; and I forgot, in an instant, all perils and fatigues 
at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of the 
mountains of Abruzzi. It was on these heights that Hannibal 
first pitched his camp, and pointed out Eome to his followers. 
The eye embraces a vast extent of country. The minor height 
of Tusculum, with its villas, and its sacred rums, lie below ; 
the Sabine hills and the Albanian mountains stretch on either 
hand, and beyond Tusculum and Frescati spreads out the 
immense Campagna, with its line of tombs, and here and there 
a broken aqueduct stretching across it, and the towers and 
domes of the eternal city in the midst. 

Fancy this scene ht up by the glories of a rising sun, and 
bursting upon my sight, as I looked forth from among the 
majestic forests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage fore- 
ground, made still more savage by groups of the banditti, 
armed and dressed in their wild, picturesque manner, and you 
will not wonder that the enthusiasm of a painter for a moment 
overpowered all his other feelings. 

The banditti were astonished at my admiration of a scene 
which familiarity had made so common in their eyes. I took 
advantage of their halting at this spot, drew forth a quire of 
drawing-paper, and began to sketch the features of the land- 
scape. The height, on which I was seated, was wild and 
solitary, separated from the ridge of Tusculum by a valley 
nearly three miles wide; though the distance appeared less 
from the purity of the atmosphere. This height Y^^as one of the 
favorite retreats of the banditti, commanding a look-out over 
the country; while, at the same time, it was covered v/ith 
forests, and distant from the populous haunts of men. 

While I was sketching, my attention was called off for a 
moment by the cries of birds and the bleatings of sheep. I 
looked around, but could see nothing of the animals that 
uttered them. They were repeated, and appeared to come 
from the summits of the trees. On looking more narrowly, I 
perceived six of the robbers perched on the tops of oaks, which 
grew on the breezy crest of the mountain, and commanded an 
uninterrupted prospect. From hence they were keeping a 
look-out, like so many vultures; casting their eyes into the 
depths of the valley below us ; communica^ting with each other 



TEE PAINTERS ADVENTURE. 181 

by signs, or holding discourse in sounds, which might be mis- 
taken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and crows, or 
the bleating of the mountain flocks. After they had recon- 
noitred the neighborhood, and finished their singular discourse, 
they descended from their airy perch, and returned to their 
prisoners. The captain posted three of them at three naked 
sides of the mountain, while he remained to guard us with 
what appeared his most trusty companion. 
* I had my book of sketches in my hand ; he requested to see 
it, and after having run his eye over it, expressed himself con- 
vinced of the truth of my assertion, that I was a painter. I 
thought I saw a gleam of good feeling dawning in him, and 
determined t.o avail myself of it. I knew that the worst of 
men have their good points and their accessible sides, if one 
would but study them carefully. Indeed, there is a singular 
mixture in the character of the Italian robber. With reckless 
ferocity, he often mingles traits of kindness and good humor. 
He is often not radically bad, but driven to his course of life 
by some unpremeditated crime, the effect of those sudden 
bursts of passion to which the Italian temperament is prone. 
This has compelled him to take to the mountains, or, as it is 
technically termed among them, "andare in Ccimpagna." He 
has become a robber by profession; but like a soldier, when 
not in action, he can lay aside his weapon and his fierceness, 
and become hke other men. 

I took occasion from the observations of the captain on my 
sketchings, to faU into conversation with him. I found him 
sociable and communicative. By degrees I became completely 
at my ease with him. I had fancied I perceived about him a 
degree of self-love, which I determined to make use of. I 
assumed an air of careless frankness, and told him that, as 
artist, I pretended to the X30wer of judging of the physiognomy ; 
that I thought I perceived something in his features and de- 
meanor which announced him worthy of higher fortunes. ' 
That he was not formed to exercise the profession to which he 
had abandoned hmiself ; that he had talents and qualities fitted 
for a nobler sphere of action ; that he had but to change his 
course of hfe, and in a legitimate career, the same courage and 
endowments which now made him an object of terror, would 
ensure him the applause and admiration of society. 

I had not mistaken my man. My discourse both touched 
and excited him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and replied 
with strong emotion, "You have guessed the truth; you have 



182 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

judged me rightly." He remained for a moment silent; then 
with a kind of effort he resmned. "I will tell you some par- 
ticulars of my life, and you will perceive that it was the 
oppression of others, rather than my own crimes, that drove 
me to the mountains. I sought to serve my fellow-men, and 
they have persecuted me from among them." We seated our- 
selves on the grass, and the robher gave me the following 
anecdotes of his history. 



THE STOEY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 

I AM a native of the viUage of Prossedi. My father was easy 
enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably and inde- 
pendently, cultivating our fields. All went on well with us 
until a new chief of the sbirri was sent to our^village to take 
command of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying 
into every thing, and practising aU sorts of vexations and 
oppressions in the discharge of his office. 

I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural 
love of justice and good neighborhood. I had also a little 
education, and knew something of history, so as to be able to 
judge a little of men and their actions. All this inspired me 
with hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, also, 
became the object of his suspicion or dislike, and felt more 
than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These things 
worked together on my mind, and I gasped after vengeance. 
My character was always ardent and energetic; and acted 
upon by my love of justice, determined me by one blow to rid 
the country of the tyrant. 

FuU of my project I rose one morning before peep of day, 
and conceahng a stiletto under my waistcoat — here you see it ! 
— (and he drew forth a long keen poniard) — I lay in wait for 
him in the outskirts of the village. I knew all his haunts, and 
his habit of making his rounds and prowling about like a wolf, 
in the gray of the morning ; at length I met him and attacked 
him with fury. He was armed, but I took him unawares, and 
was fuU of youth and vigor. I gave him repeated blows to 
make sure work, and laid him lifeless at my feet. 

When I was satisfied that I had done for him, I returned 
with all haste to the village, but had the ill-luck to meet two of 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 183 

the sbirri as I entered it. They accosted me and asked if I had 
seen their chief. I assumed an air of tranquilhty, and told 
them I had not. They continued on their way, and, within a 
few hours, brought back the dead body to Prossedi. Their 
suspicions of me being already awakened, I was arrested and 
thrown into prison. Here I lay several weeks, when the 
prince, who was Seigneur of Prossedi, directed judicial pro- 
ceedings against me. I was brought to trial, and a witness 
was produced who pretended to have seen me not far from the 
bleeding body, and flying with precipitation, so I was con- 
demned to the galleys for thirty years. 

" Curse on such laws," vociferated the bandit, foaming with 
rage; "curse on such a government, and ten thousand curses 
on the prince who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, 
while so many other Roman princes harbor and protect assas- 
sins a thousand times more culpable. What had I done but 
what was inspired by a love of justice and my country? Why 
was my act more culpable than that of Brutus, when he sacri- 
ficed Caesar to the cause of liberty and justice?" 

There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in the 
rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating himself with 
one of the great names of antiquity. It showed, however, that 
he had at least the merit of knowing the remarkable facts in 
the history of his country. He became more calm, and re- 
sumed his narrative. 

I was conducted to Civita Vecchia in fetters. My heart was 
burning with rage. I had been married scarce six months to a 
woman whom I passionately loved, and w^ho was pregnant. 
My family was in despair. For a long time I made unsuccess- 
ful efforts to break my chain. At length I found a morsel of 
iron which I hid carefully, endeavored with a pointed flint to 
fashion it into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this work 
during the night-time, and when it was finished, I made out, 
after a long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My 
flight was successful. 

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which sur- 
round Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife of the 
place where I was concealed. She ca^ne often to see me. I had 
determined to put myself at the head of an armed band. She 
endeavored for a long time to dissuade me; but finding my 
resolution fixed, she at length united in my project of ven- 
geance, and brought me, herself, my poniard. 

By her means I communicated with several brave fellows of 



184 TALES OF A TUAVELLKR. 

the neighboring villages, who I knew to be ready to take to 
the mountains, and only panting for an opportunity to exercise 
their daring spirits. We soon formed a combination, pro- 
cured arms, and we have had ample opportunities of reveng- 
ing ourselves for the wrongs and injuries Y/liich most of us 
have suffered. Every thing has succeeded with us until now, 
and had it not been for our blunder in mistaking you for the 
prince, our fortunes would have been made. 

Here the robber concluded his story^ He had talked himself 
into companionship, and assured me he no longer bore me any 
grudge for the error of which I had been the innocent cause. 
He even professed a kindness for me, and wished me to remain 
some time with them. He promised to give me a sight of cer- 
tain grottos which they occupied beyond Villetri, and whither 
they resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. He 
assured me that they led a jovial life there ; had plenty of good 
cheer ; slept on beds of moss, and were waited upon by young 
and beautiful females, whom I might take for models. 

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by liis descriptions of 
these grottos and their inhabitants ; they reahzed those scenes 
in robber-story which I had always looked upon as mere crea- 
tions of the fancy. I should gladly have accepted his invita- 
tion, and paid a visit to those caverns, could I have felt more 
secure in my company. 

I began to find my situation less painful. I had evidently 
propitiated the good- will of the chieftain, and hoped that he 
might release me for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, how- 
ever, awaited nie. While the captain was looking out with im- 
patience for the return of the messenger who had been sent to 
the prince, the sentinel who had been posted on the side of the 
mountain facing the plain of la Molara, came running towards 
us with precipitation. "We are betrayed!" exclaimed he. 
" The police of Frescati are after us. A party of carabiniers 
have just stopped at the inn below the mountain." Th-en lay- 
ing his hand on his stiletto, he swore, with a terrible oath, that 
if they made the least movement towards the mountains, my 
life and the lives of my 5ellow-prisoners should answer for it. 

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor, and 
approved of what his companion said ; but when the latter had 
returned to his post, he turned to me with a softened air: "I 
must act as chief," said he, "and humor my dangerous- sub^ 
alterns. It is a law with us to kill our prisoners rather than 



TUE ISTOllY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 185 

suffer them to be rescued ; but do not be alarmed. In case we 
are surprised keep by me ; fly with us, and I will consider my- 
self responsible for your life." 

There was nothing very consolatory in this arrangement, 
which would have placed me between two dangers ; I scarcely 
knew, in case of flight, which I should have most to appre- 
hend from, the carbines of the pursuers, or the stilettos of the 
pursued. I remained silent, however, and endeavored to main- 
tain a look of tranquillity. 

For an hour was I kept in tliis state of peril and anxiety. 
The robbers, crouching among their leafy coverts, kept an 
eagle watch upon the carabiniers below, as they loitered about 
the inn ; sometimes lolliug about the portal ; sometimes disap- 
pearing for several minutes, then sallying out, examining their 
weapons, pointing in different directions and apparently ask- 
ing questions about the neighborhood; n®t a movement or 
gesture was last upon the keen eyes of the brigands. At 
length we were reheved from our apprehensions. The cara- 
biniers having finished their refreshment, seized their arms, 
continued along the valley towards the great road, and gradu- 
ally left the mountain behind them. "I felt almost certain, " 
said the ciiief , ' ' that they could not be sent after us. They 
know too well how prisoners have fared in our hands on simi- 
lar occasions. Our laws in this respect are inflexible, and are 
necessary for our safety. If we once flinched from them, there 
would no longer be such thing as a ransom to be procured." 

There w-ere no signs yet of the messenger's return. I was 
preparing to resume m7 sketching, when the captain drew a 
quire of paper from his knapsack—" Come," said he, laughing, 
"you are a painter; take my likeness. The leaves of your 
portfolio are small; draw it on this." I gladly consented, for 
it was a study that seldom presents itself to a painter. I recol- 
lected that Salvator Eosa in liis youth had voluntarily so- 
journed for a time among the banditti of Calabria, and had 
filled his mind with the savage scenery and savage associates 
by which he was surrounded. I seized my pencfl with enthu- 
siasm at the thought. I found the captain the most docile of 
subjects, and after various shifting of positions, I placed him 
in an attitude to my mind. 

Picture to yourself a stern, muscular figure, in fanciful 
bandit costume, with pistols and poniards in belt, his brawny 
neck bare, a handkerchief loosely thrown around it, and the 
two ends in front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of 



186 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

travellers; reliqiies and medals hung on .Ms breast; Ms hat 
decorated with various-colored ribbands; his vest and short 
breeches of bright colors and finely embroidei'ed ; his 1 egs in 
buskins or leggins. Fancy him on a mountain height, among 
wild rocks and rugged oaks, leaning on his carbine as if medi- 
tating some exploit, while far below are beheld villages and 
villas, the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Campagna 
dimly extending in the distance. 

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to ad- 
mire himself upon j)aper. I had scarcely fimshed, when the 
laborer arrived who had been sent for my ransom. He had 
reached Tusculum two hours after midmght. He brought me 
a letter from the prince, who was in bed at the time of Ms 
arrival. As I had predicted, he treated the demand as extrava- 
gant, but offered five hundred dollars for my ransom. Having 
no money by him at the moment, he had sent a note for the 
amount, payable to whomever should conduct me safe and 
sound to Eome. I presented the note of hand to the chieftain ; 
he received it with a shrug. ' ' Of what use are notes of hand 
tons?" said he, "who can we send with you to Rome to re- 
ceive it? We are all marked men, known and described at 
every gate and imlitary post, and village church-door. No, we 
must have gold and silver ; let the sum be paid in cash and you 
shall be restored to hberty." 

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to com- 
municate his determination to the prince. When I had finished 
the letter and took the sheet from the quire, I found on the 
opposite side of it the portrait which I had just been tracing. I 
wa,s about to tear it off and give it to the chief. 

" Hold," said he, " let it go to Rome ; let them see what kind 
of looking fellow I am. Perhaps the prince and his friends 
may form as good an opinion of me from my face as you have 
done." 

TMs was said sportively, yet it was evident there was vanity 
lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful cMef of 
banditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight and precaution 
in the common wish to be admired. He never reflected what 
use might be made of this portrait in Ms pursuit and convic- 
tion. 

The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger de- 
parted again for Tusculum. It was now eleven o'clock in the 
morning, and as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite of all my 
anxiety, I began to feel a craving appetite. I was glad, there- 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 187 

fore, to hear the captain talk something of eating. He ob- 
served that for thi-ee days and nights they had been lurking 
about among rocks and woods, meditating their expedition to 
Tusculmn, during which all their provisions had been exhausted. 
He should now take measures to procure a supply. Leaving 
me, therefore, in the charge of his comrade, in whom he ap- 
peared to have implicit confidence, he departed, assuring me, 
that in less than two hours we should make a good dinner. 
Where it was to come from was an enigma to me, though it 
was evident these beings had their secret friends and agents 
throughout the country. 

Indeed, the inhabitants of these mountains and of the valleys 
which they embosom are a rude, half civilized set. The towns 
and villages among the forests of the Abruzzi, shut up from 
the rest of the world, are almost like savage dens. It is won- 
derful that such rude abodes, so little known and visited, 
should be embosomed in the midst of one of the most travelled 
and civilized countries of Europe. Among these regions the 
robber prowls unmolested ; not a mountaineer hesitates to give 
him secret harbor and assistance. The shepherds, however, 
who tend their flocks among the mountains, are the favorite 
emissaries of the robbers, when they would send messages 
down to the valleys either for ransom or suppHes. The shep- 
herds of the Abruzzi are as wild as the scenes they frequent. 
They are clad in a rude garb of black or brown sheep-skin; 
they have high conical hats, and coarse sandals of cloth 
boimd round their legs with thongs, similar to those worn by 
the robbers. They carry long staffs, on which as they lean they 
form picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, and they are 
followed by their ever-constant companion, the dog. They are 
a curious, questioning set, glad at any time to relieve the 
monotony of their solitude by the conversation of the passer- 
by, and the dog will lend an attentive ear, and put on as 
sagacious and inquisitive a look as his master. 

But I am wandering from my story. I was now left alone 
with one of the robbers, the confidential companion of the 
chief. He was the youngest and most vigorous of the band, 
and though his countenance had something of that dissolute 
fierceness which seems natural to this desperate, lawless mode 
of life, yet there were traits of manly beauty about it. As an 
artist I could not but admire it. I had remarked in him an 
air of abstraction and reverie, and at times a movement of in- 
ward suffering and impatience. He now sat on the ground; 



188 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

his elbows on his knees, his head resting between his clenched 
fists, and his eyes fixed on the earth with an expression of sad 
and bitter rumination. I had grown familiar with him from 
repeated conversations, and had found him superior in mind 
to the rest of the band. I was anxious to seize every oppor- 
tunity of sounding the feelings of these singular beings. I 
fancied I read in the countenance of this one traces of self-con- 
demnation and remorse ; and the ease with wliich I had drawn 
forth the confidence of the chieftain encouraged me to hope 
the same with his followers. 

After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to ask 
him if he did not feel regret at having abandoned his family 
and taken to this dangerous profession. "I feel," replied he, 
"but one regret, and that will end only with my life;" as he 
said this he pressed his clenched fists upon his bosom, drew his 
breath through his set teeth, and added with deep emotion, "I 
have something within here that stifles me ; it is like a burning 
iron consuming my very heart. I could tell you a miserable 
story, but not now— another time." — He relapsed into his former 
position, and sat with his head between his hands, muttering to 
himself in broken ejaculations, and what appeared at times to 
be curses and maledictions. I saw he was not in a mood to be 
disturbed, sol left him to himself. In a little time the exhaus- 
tion of his feelings, and probably the fatigues he had undergone 
in this expedition, began to produce drowsiness. He struggled 
with it for a tune, but the warmth and sultriness of mid-day 
made it irresistible, and he at length stretched himself upon 
the herbage and fell asleep. 

I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My guard 
lay before me at my mercy. His vigorous limbs relaxed by 
sleep ; his bosom open for the blow ; his carbine slipped from 
his nerveless grasp, and lying by his side ; his stiletto half out 
of the pocket in which it was usually carried. But two of his 
comrades were in sight, and those at a considerable distance, 
on the edge of the mountain; their backs turned to us, and 
their attention occupied in keeping a look-out upon the plain. 
Through a strip of intervening forest, and at the foot of a steep 
descent, I beheld the village of Rocca Priori. To have secured 
the carbine of the sleeping brigand, to have seized upon his 
poniard and have plunged it in his heart, would have been the 
work of an instant. Should he die without noise, I might dart 
through the forest a;nd down to Rocca Priori before my flight 
might be discovered. In case of alarm, I should still have a 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT GIIIEFTAIN. 189 

fair start of the robbers, and a chance of getting beyond the 
reach of their shot. 

Here then was an opportunity for both escape and ven- 
geance; perilous, indeed, but powerfully tempting. Had my 
situation been more critical I could not have resisted it. I re- 
flected, however, for a moment. The attempt, if successful, 
would be followed by the sacrifice of my two fellow prisoners, 
who were sleeping profoundly, and could not be awakened in 
time to escape. The laborer who had gone after the ransom 
might also fall a victim to the rage of the robbers, without the 
money which he brought being saved. Besides, the conduct of 
the chief towards me made me feel certain of speedy deliver- 
ance. These reflections overcan:^ the first powerful impulse, 
and I calmed the turbulent agitation which it had awakened. 

I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused my- 
seK with sketcliing the magnificent prospect. It was now about 
noon, and every thing seemed smik into repose, hke the bandit 
that lay sleeping before me. The noon-tide stillness that reigned 
over these mountains, the vast landscape below, gleaming with 
distant 1»owns and dotted with various habitations and signs of 
life, yet all so silent, had a powerful effect upon my mind. 
The intermediate valleys, too, that he among mountains have 
a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are heard at mid-day 
to break the quiet of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a 
solitary muleteer, lagging with his lazy animal along the road 
that winds through the centre of the valley ; sometimes the 
faint piping of a shepherd's reed from the side of the moun- 
tain, or sometimes the bell of an ass slowly pacing along, fol- 
lowed by a monk with bare feet and bare shining head, and 
carrying provisions to the convent. 

I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleeping 
companions, when at length I saw the captain of .the band ap- 
proaching, followed by a peasant leadmg a mule, on which was 
a well-filled sack. I at first apprehended that this was some 
new prey fallen into the hands of the robbers, but the con- 
tented look of the peasant soon relieved me, and I was rejoiced 
to hear that it was our promised repast. The brigands now 
came running from the three sides of the mountain, having 
the qmck scent of vultures. Every one busied himself in un- 
loadmg the mule and relieving the sack of its contents. 

The first thing that made its appearance was an enormous 
ham of a color and plumpness that would have inspired the 
pencil of Temers. It was followed by a large cheese, a bas: of 



190 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

boiled chestnuts, a little barrel of wine, and a quantity of good 
household bread. Everything was arranged on the grass with 
a degree of symmetry, and the captain presenting me his 
knife, requested me to help myself. We all seated ourselves 
round the viands, and nothing was heard for a time but the 
sound of vigorous mastication, or the gurgling of the barrel of 
wine as it revolved briskly about the circle. My long fasting 
and the mountain air and exercise had given me a keen appe- 
tite, and never did repast appear to me more excellent or pic- 
turesque. 

From time to time one of the band was despatched to keep a 
look-out upon the plain : no enemy was at hand, and the din- 
ner was undisturbed. 

The peasant received nearly twice the value of his provi- 
sions, and set off down the mountain highly satisfied with his 
bargain. I felt invigorated by the hearty meal I had made, 
and notwithstanding that the wound I had received the even- 
ing before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely in- 
terested and gratified by the singular scenes continually pre- 
sented to me. Every thing seemed pictured about these wild 
beings and their haunts. Their bivouacs, their groups on guard, 
their indolent noon-tide repose on the mountain brow, their 
rude repast on the herbage among rocks and trees, every thing 
presented a study for a painter. But it was towards the ap- 
proach of evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. 

The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campagna, shed 
its rich yellow beams on the woody summits of the Abruzzi. 
Several mountains crowned with snow shone brilliantly m the 
distance, contrasting their brightness with others, which, 
thrown into shade, assumed deep tints of x)urple and violet. 
As the evening advanced, the landscape darkened into a sterner 
character. The immense solitude around ; the wild mountains 
broken into rocks and precipices, intermingled with vast oak, 
cork, and chestnuts ; and the groups of banditti in the fore- 
ground, reminded me of those savage scenes of Sal vat or Kosa. 

To beguile the time the captain proposed to his comrades to 
spread before me their jewels and cameos, as I must doubtless 
be a judge of such articles, and able to inform them of their 
nature. He set the example, the others followed it, and in a 
few moments I saw the grass before me sparkling with jewels 
and gems that would have delighted the eyes of an antiquary 
or a fine lady. Among them v/ere several precious jewels and 
antique intaglios and cameos of great value, the spoils doubt- 



THE STORY OF TEE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. IQl 

less of travellers of distinction. I found that they were in the 
habit of selling their booty in the frontier towns. As these in 
general were thinly and poorly peopled, and little frequented 
by travellers, they could offer no market for such valuable ar- 
ticles of taste and luxury. I suggested to them the certainty 
of their readily obtaining great pieces for these gems among 
the rich strangers with which Eome was thronged. 

The impression made upon their greedy minds wa3 imme- 
diately apparent. One of the band, a young man, and the least 
known, requested permission of the caj^tain to depart the fol- 
lowing day in disguise for Rome, for the purpose of traffick ; 
promising on the faith of a bandit (a sacred pledge amongst 
them) to return in two days to any place he might appoint. 
The captain consented, and a curious scene took place. The 
robbers crowded round him eagerly, confiding to him such of 
their jewels as they wished to dispose of, and giving him in- 
structions what to demand. There was bargaining and ex- 
changing and seUing of trinkets among themselves, and I be- 
held my watch, which had a chain and valuable seals, pur- 
chased by the young robber merchant of the ruffian who had 
plundered me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived a faint hope 
that if it went to Rome, I might somehow or other regain pos- 
session of it. 

In the mean time day declined, and no messenger returned 
from Tusculum. 

The idea of passing another night in the woods was extremely 
disheartening ; for I began to be satisfied with what I had seen 
of robber Hfe. The chieftain now ordered his men to follow 
him, that he might station them at their posts, adding, that if 
the messenger did not return before night they must shift their 
quarters to some other place. 

I was again left alone with the young bandit who had before 
guarded me : he had the same gloomy air and haggard eye, 
with now and then a bitter sardonic smile. I was determined 
to probe this ulcerated heart, and reminded him of a kind of 
promise he had given me to tell me the cause of his suffering. 

It seemed to me as if these troubled spirits were glad of an 
opportunity to disburthen themselves; and of having some 
fresh undiseased mind with which they could communicate. 
I had hardly made the request but he seated himself by my 
side, and gave me his story in, as nearly as I can recoUect, 
the following words. 



192 • TALES OF A TBAVELLEE. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. 

I WAS born at tlie little town of Frosinone, which lies at the 
skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had made a little property 
in trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for 
the church, but I had kept gay company too much to relish the 
cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heedless 
fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasions, but good-humored in 
the main, so I made my way very well for a time, until I fell 
in love. There lived in our town a surveyor, or land bailiff, 
of the prince's who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of 
sixteen. She was looked upon as something better than the 
common run of our townsfolk, and kept almost entirely at 
home. I saw her occasionally, and became madly in love with 
her, she looked so fresh and tender, and so different to the sun- 
burnt females to whom I had been accustomed. 

As my father kept me in money, I always dressed well, and 
took all opportunities of showing myself to advantage in the 
eyes of the little beauty. I used to see her at church ; and as 
I could play a little upon the guitar, I gave her a tune some- 
times under her window of an evening ; and I tried to have 
interviews with her in her father's vineyard, not far from the 
town, where she sometimes walked. She was evidently 
pleased with me, but she was young and shy, and her father 
kept a strict eye upon her, and took alarm at my attentions, 
for he had a bad opinion of me, and looked for a better match 
for his daughter. I became furious at the difficulties thrown 
in my way, having been accustomed a^lways to easy success 
among the women, being considered one of the smartest young 
fellows of the place. 

Her father brought home a suitor for her ; a rich farmer from 
a neighboring town. The wedding-day was appointed, and prep- 
arations were making. I got sight of her at her window, and 
I thought she looked sadly at me. I determined the match 
should not take place, cost what it might. I^met her intended 
bridegroom in the market-place, and could not restrain the 
expression of my rage. A few hot v/ords passed between us, 
when I drew my stiletto, and stabbed him to the heart. I fled 
to a neighboring church for refuge ; and with a little money I 
obtained absolution; but I did not dare to venture from my 
asylum. 

At that time our captain was forming his troop. He had 



THE STOUY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER 193 

known me from boyhood, and hearing of my situation, came to 
me in secret, and made such offers that I agreed to enhst myself 
among his foUov/ers. Indeed, T had more than once thought 
of taking to this mode of hfe, having known several brave 
"fellows of the mountains, who used to spend their money 
freely among us youngs-fcers of the town. I accordingly left 
my asylum late one night, repaired to the appointed place of 
meeting ; took the oaths prescribed, and became one of the troop. 
We were for some time i .1 a distant part of the mountains, and 
our wild adventurous k"nd of life hit my fancy wonderfully, 
and diverted my thoughts. At length they returned ^vith all 
their violence to the recollection of Eosetta. The solitude in 
which I often found myself gave me time to brood over her 
image, and as I have kept watch at night over our sleeping 
camp in the mountains, my feehngs have been roused almost 
to a fever. 

At length we shifted our ground, and determined to make a 
descent upon the road between Terracina and Naples. In the 
course of bur expedition, we^passed a day or two in the woody 
mountains which rise above Frosinone. I cannot teU you how 
I felt when I looked down upon the place, and distinguished 
the residence of Eosetta. I determined to have an interview 
with her; but to what purpose? I could not expect that she 
would quit her home, and accompany me in my hazardous hfe 
among the mountains. She had been brought up too tenderly 
for that ; aiisl when I looked upon the women who were associ- 
ated with some of our troop, I coidd not have borne the 
thoughts of her being their companion. All return to my for- 
mer hfe was likewise hopeless ; for a price was set upon my 
head. Still I determined to see- her; the very hazard and 
fruitlessness of the thing made me furious to accomplish it. 

It is about three weeks since I persuaded our captain to draw 
down to the vicinity of Frosinone, in hopes of entrapping some 
of its principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a ransom. 
We were lying in ambush towards evening, not far from the 
vineyard of Eosetta's father. I stole quietly from my compan- 
ions, and drew near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent 
walks. 

How my heart beat when, among the vines, I beheld the 
gleaming of a white dress ! I knew it must be Eosetta's ; it 
being rare for any female of the place to dress in white. \ 
advanced secretly and without noise, until putting aside the 
vines, I stood suddenly before her. She uttered a piercing 



194 TALES OF A TEAVELLER. 

shriek, but I seized lier in my arms, put my liand upon her 
mouth and conjured her to be silent. I poured out all the 
frenzy of my passion; offered to renounce my mode of life, to 
put my fate in her hands, to fly with her where we might live 
in safety together. All that I could say, or do, would not 
pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright seemed to 
have taken possession of her breast. — She struggled partly 
from my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. In an instant 
the captain and the rest of my companions were around us. 
I would have given anything at that moment had she been 
safe out of our hands, and in her father's house. It was too 
late. The captain pronounced her a prize, and ordered that 
she should be borne to the mountains. I represented to him 
that she was my prize, that I had a previous claim to her ; and 
I mentioned my former attachment. He sneered bitterly in 
reply; observed that brigands had no business with viUage 
intrigues, and that, according to the laws of the troop, all 
spoiiS'pf the kind were determined by lot. Love and jealousy 
were raging in my heart, but I liad to choose between obedi- 
ence and death. I surrendered her to the captain, and we 
made for the mountains. 

She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble 
and faltermg, and it was necessary to support her. I could 
not endure the idea that my comrades should touch her, and 
assuming a forced tranquillity, begged that she might be con- 
fided to me, as one to whom she Vv^as more accustomed. The 
captain regarded me for a moment with a searching lopk, but 
I bore it vfithout flincliing, and he consented, I took her in 
my arms : she was almost senseless. Her head rested on my 
shoulder, her mouth was near to mine. I felt her breath on 
my face, and it seemed to fan the flame which devoured me. 
Oh, God ! to have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet to 
think it was not mine ! 

We arrived at the foot of the mountain. I ascended it with 
difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick ; but I would 
not rehnquish my delicious burthen. I reflected with rage, 
however, that I must soon do so. The thoughts tliat so deh- 
cate a creature must be abandoned to my rude companions, 
maddened me. I felt tempted, the stiletto in my hand, to cut 
my way through them all, and bear her off in triumph. I 
scarcely conceived the idea, before I saw its rashness ; but my 
brain was fevered with the thought that any but myself should 
enjoy her charms. I endeavored to outstrip my companions 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG BOBBER. I95 

by the quickness of my movements ; and to get a little distance 
ahead, in case any favorable opportunity of escape should pre- 
sent. Vain effort ! The voice of the captain suddenly ordered 
a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly 
opened a languid eye, but was without strength or motion. I 
laid her upon the grass. The captain darted on me a terrible 
look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with my 
companions, in search of some shepherd who might be sent to 
her father's to demand a ransom. 

I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence was certain 
death ; but to leave her alone, in the power of the captain ! — I 
spoke out then with a fervor inspired by my passion and my 
despair. I reminded the captain that I was the first to seize 
her ; that she was my prize, and that my previous attachment 
for her should make her sacred among my companions. I 
insisted, therefore, that he should pledge me his word to respect 
her; otherwise I should refuse obedience to his orders. His 
only reply was, to cock his carbine ; and at the signal my com- 
rades did the same. They laughed with cruelty at my impo- 
tent rage. What could I do? I felt the madness of resistance. 
I was menaced on all hands, and my companions obliged me to 
follow them. She remained alone with the chief— yes, alone — 
and ahnost hf eless ! — 

Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by his 
emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his forehead; he 
panted rather than breathed ; his brawny bosom rose and fell 
like the waves of a troubled sea. When he had become a little 
calm, he continued his recital. 

I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran with the 
rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back before what I 
dreaded might take place. I had left my companions far 
behind, and I rejoined them before they had reached one-half 
the distance I had made. I hurried them back to the place 
where we had left the captain. As we approached, I beheld 
him seated by the side of Eosetta. His triumphant look, and 
the desolate condition of the unfortunate girl, left me no doubt 
of her fate. I know not how I restrained my fury. 

It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her hand, that 
she was made to trace a few characters, requesting her father 
to send three hundred dollars as her ransom. The letter was 
despatched by the shepherd. When he was gone, the chief 
turned sternly to me : ' ' You have set an example, " said he, ' ' of 
mutiny and self-will, which if indulged would be ruinous to the 



196 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

troop. Had I treated you as our laws require, this bullet would 
have been driven through your brain. But you are an old 
friend ; I have borne patiently with your fury and your folly ; 
I have even protected you from a foolish passion that would 
have unmanned you. As to this girl, the laws of our associa- 
tion must have their course. " So saying, he gave his commands, 
lots were drawn, and the helpless girl was abandoned to the 
troop. 

Here the robber paused again, panting with fury and it was 
some moments before he could resume his story. 

Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I beheld the impossi- 
bility of avenging myself, and I felt that, according to the arti- 
cles in which we stood bound to one another, the captain was 
in -the right. I rushed with frenzy from the place. I threw 
myself upon the earth ; tore up the grass with my hands, and 
beat my head, and gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. 
When at length I returned, I beheld the wretched victim, pale, 
dishevelled ; her dress torn and disordered. An emotion of pity 
for a moment subdued my fiercer feelings. I bore her to the 
foot of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my 
gourd, which was filled with wine, and applying it to her hps, 
endeavored to make her swallow a little. To what a condition 
was she recovered ! She, whom I had once seen the pride of 
Frosinone, who but a short time before I had beheld sporting 
in her father's vineyard, so fresh and beautiful and happy! 
Her teeth were clenched ; her eyes fixed on the ground ; her 
form v/ithout motion, and in a state of absolute insensibilitj^. 
I hung over her in an agony of recollection of all that she had 
been, and of anguish at what I now beheld her. I darted round 
a look of horror at my companions, who seemed like so many 
fiends exulting in the downfall of an angel, and I felt a horror 
at myself for being their accomphce. 

The captain, always suspicious, saw with his usual penetra- 
tion what was passing witliin me, and ordered me to go upon 
the ridge of woods to keep a look-out upon the neighborhood 
and await the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of course, 
stifling the fury that raged within me, though I felt for the 
moment that he was my most deadly foe. ' 

On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my 
mind. I perceived that the captain was but following with 
strictness the terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity. 
That the passion by which I had been blinded might with jus- 
tice have been fatal to me but for his forbearance ; that he had 



THE STORY OF THE TOUNG ROBBER. 197 

penetrated my soul, and had taken precautions, by sending me 
out of the way, to prevent my committing any excess in my 
anger. From that instant I felt that I was capable of pardon- 
ing him. 

Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of the 
mountain. The country was solitary and secure ; and in a ^ort 
time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I 
hastened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. He had 
found the father plunged in the deepest distress. He had read 
the letter with violent emotion, and then calming himself with 
a sudden exertion, he had replied coldly, " My daughter has 
been dishonored by those wretches ; let her be returned without 
ransom, or let her die !" 

I shuddered at this reply. I knew, according to the laws of 
our troop, her dearth was inevitable. Our oaths required it. I 
felt, nevertheless, that, not having been able to have her to 
myself, I could become her executioner! 

The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musi^.^upon 
his last frightful words, which proved to what excess the pas- 
sions may be carried when escaped from all moral restraint. 
There was a horrible verity in this story that reminded me of 
some of the tragic fictions of Dante. 

• We now came to a fatal moment, resumed the bandit. After 
the report of the shepherd, I returned with him, and the chief- 
tain received from his lips the refusal of the father. At a sig- 
nal, which we all understood, we followed him some distance 
from the victim. He there pronounced her sefntence of death. 
Every one stood ready to execute his order ; but I interfered. 
I observed that there was something due to pity, as well as to 
justice. That I was as ready as any one to approve the impla- 
cable law which was to serve as a warning to all those who 
hesitated to pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners, but 
that, though the sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made with- 
out cruelty. The night is approaching, continued I ; she will 
soon be wrapped in sleep ; let her then be despatched. All that 
I now cla.im on the score of former fondness for her is, let me 
strike the blow. I will do it as surely, but more tenderly than 
another. 

Several raised their voices against my proposition, but the 
captain imposed silence on them. He told me I might conduct 
her into a thicket at some distance, and he rehed upon my 
promise. 

I hastened to seize my prey. There was a forlorn kind of 



ig^ TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

fcriumpli at having at length become her exdusive possessor. I 
bore her off into the thickness of the forest. She remained in 
the same state of insensibihty and stupor. I was thankful 
that she did not recollect me ; for had she once murmured my 
name, I should have been overcome. She slept at length in 
the arms of him who was to poniard her. Many were the con- 
flicts I underwent before I could bring myself to strike the 
blow. My heart had become sore by the recent conflicts it had 
undergone, and I dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other 
should become her executioner. When her repose had contin- 
ued for some time, I separated myself gently from her, that I 
might not disturb her sleep, and seizing suddenly my poniard, 
plunged it into her bosom. A painful and concentrated 
murmur, but without any convulsive movement, accompanied 
her last sigh. So perished this unfortunate. 

He ceased to speak. I sat horror-struck, covering my face 
with my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from myself the 
frightful images he had presented to my mind. I was roused 
from this silence by the voice of the captain. "You sleep," 
said he, "and it is time to be off. Come, we must abandon 
this height, as night is setting in, and the messenger is not 
returned. I will post some one on the mountain edge, to con- 
duct him to the place where we shall pass the night." 

This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at heart with 
the dismal story I had heard. I was harassed and fatigued, 
and the sight of the banditti began to grow insupportable to 
me. 

The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly descended 
the forest which we had mounted with so much difficulty in 
the morning, and soon arrived in what appeared to be a fre- 
quented road. The robbers proceeded with great caution, 
carrying their guns cocked, and looking on every side with 
wary and suspicious eyes. They were apprehensive of encoun- 
tering the civic patrole. We left Eocca Priori behind us. 
There was a fountain near by, and as I was excessively thirsty, 
I begged permission to stop and drink. The captain himself 
went, and brought me water in his hat. We pursued our 
route, when, at the extremity of an alley which crossed the 
road, I perceived a female on horseback, dressed in white. She 
was alone. I recollected the fate of the poor girl in the story, 
and trembled for her safety. 

One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and plung- 
ing into the bushes, he ran precipatately in the direction 



THE STOBT OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. 199 

towards her. Stopping on^the border of tlie alley, he put one 
knee to the ground, presented his carbine ready for menace, 
or to shoot her horse if she attempted to fly, and in this way 
awaited her approach. I kept my eyes fixed on her with 
intense anxiety. I felt tempted to shout, and warn her of her 
danger, though my own destruction would have been the con- 
sequence. It was av/ful to see this tiger crouching ready for a 
bound, and the poor imiocent victim wandering unconsciously 
near hmi. Nothing but a mere chance could save her. To my 
joy, the chance turned in her favor. She seemed almost acci- 
dentally to take an opposite path, which led outside of the 
wood, where the robber dare not venture. To this casual devi- 
ation she owed her safety. 

I could not imagine why the captain of the band had ven- 
tured to such a distance from the height, on which he had 
placed the sentinel to watch the return of the messengers. He 
seemed liimself uneasy at the risk to which he exposed himself. 
His movements were rapid and uneasy ; I could scarce keep 
pace with him. At length, after three hours of what might 
be termed a forced march, we mounted the extremity of the 
same woods, the summit of which we had occupied dming the 
day ; and I learnt with satisfaction, that we had reached our 
quarters for the night. ''You must be fatigued," said the 
chief tan ; ' ' but it was necessary to survey the environs, so as 
not to be surprised during the night. Had we met with the 
famous civic guard of Rocca Priori you would have seen fine 
sport. " Such was the indefatigable precaution and forethought 
of this robber chief, who really gave continual evidences of mili- 
tary talent. 

The night was magnificent. The moon rising above the hori- 
zon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand features of the 
mountains, while lights twinkhng here and there, hke terres- 
trial stars, in the wide, dusky expanse of the landscape, 
betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds. Exhausted by 
fatigue, and by the many agitations I had experienced, I pre- 
pared to sleep, soothed by the hope of approaching dehverance. 
The captain ordered his companions to collect some dry moss ; 
he arranged with his own hands a kind of mattress and pillow 
of it, and gave me his ample mantle as a covering. I could 
not but feel both surprised and gratified by such unexpected 
attentions on the part of this benevolent cut-throat : for there 
is nothing more striking than to find the ordinary charities, 
which are matters of course in conamon life, flourishing by the 



200 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

side of such stern and sterile crime. It is like finding the 
tender flowers and fresh herbage of the valley growing among 
the rocks ond cinders of the volcano. 

Before I fell asleep, I had some farther discourse with the 
captain, who seemed to put great confidence in me. He re- 
ferred to our previous conversation of the morning;; told me he 
was weary of his hazardous profession ; that lie had acquired 
sufficient property, and was anxious to return to the world and 
lead a peaceful life in the bosom of his family. He wished to 
know whether it was not in my power to procure him a pass- 
port for the United States of America. I applauded liis good 
intentions, and promised to do everything in my power to 
promote its success. We then parted for the night. I stretched 
myself upon my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt 
like a bed of down, and sheltered by the robber's mantle from 
all humidity, I slept soundly without waking, until the signal 
to arise. 

It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just dawning. 
As the place where we had passed the night was too much 
exposed, we moved up into the thickness of the woods. A 
fire was kindled. While there was any flame, the mantles 
were again extended round it ; but when nothing remained but 
glowing cinders, they were lowered, and the robbers seated 
themselves in a circle. 

The scene before me reminded me of some of those described 
by Homer. There wanted only the victim on the coals, and 
the sacred knife, to cut off the succulent parts, and distribute 
them around. My companions might have rivalled the grim 
warriors of Greece. In place of the noble repasts, however, 
of xlchilles and Agamemnon, I beheld displayed on the grass 
the remains of the ham which had sustained so vigorous an 
attack on the preceding evening, accompanied by the reliques 
of the bread, cheese, and wine. 

We had scarcely commenced our frugal breakfast, when I 
heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep, similar to 
what I had heard the day before. The captain answered it in 
the same tone. Two men were soon after seen descending from 
the woody height, where we had passed the preceding evening. 
On nearer approach, they proved to be the sentinel and the 
messenger. The captain rose and w^ent to meet them. He 
made a signal for his comrades to join him. They had a short 
conference, and then returning to me with eagerness, ' ' Your 
ransom is paid," said he ; "you are free !" 



THE STOUT OF THE YOUNG BOBBER. ^Ql 

Though I had anticipated -dehverance, I cannot tell you what 
a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared not to finish 
my repast, but prepared to depart. The captain took me by 
the hand : requested permission to write to me, and begged me 
not to forget the passport. I rephed, that I hoped to be of 
effectual service to him, and that I relied on liis honor to return 
the prince's note for five hundred dollars, now that the cash 
was paid. He regarded me for a moment with surprise ; then, 
seeming to recollect himself, "E giusto," said he, "eccolo — 
adio!"* He dehvered me the note, pressed my hand once 
more, and we sep£trated. The laborers were permitted to fol- 
low me, and we resumed with joy our road towards Tusculum. 



The artist ceased to speak ; the party continued for a few 
moments to pace the shore of Terracina in silence. The story 
they had heard had made a deep impression on them, particu- 
larly on the fair Venetian, who had gradually regained her 
husband's arm. At the part that related to the young girl of 
Frosinone, she had been violently affected; sobs broke from 
her ; she clung close to her husband, and as she looked up to 
him as if for protection, the moon-beams shining on her beauti- 
fully fair countenance showed it paler than usual with terror, 
while tears glittered in her fine dark eyes. "O caro mio!" 
would she murmur, shuddering at every atrocious circum- 
stance of the story. 

"Corragio, mia vita!" was the reply, as the husband gently 
and fondly tapped the white hand that lay upon liis arm. 

The Englishman alone preserved his usual phlegm, and the 
fair Venetian was piqued at it. 

She had pardoned him a vv^ant of gpillantry towards herself, 
though a sin of omission seldom met with m the gallant climate 
of Italy, but the quiet coolness which he maintained in matters 
which so much affected her, and the slow credence which he 
had given to the stories which had filled her with alarm, were 
quite vexatious. 

" Santa Maria!" said she to husband as they retired for the 
night, " what insensible. beings these English are !" 

In the morning all was bustle at the inn at Terracina. 

The procaccio had departed at day-break, on its route towards 
Eome, but the Englishman was yet to start, and the departure 
of an English equipage is ahvays enough to keep an inn in a 

* It is just— there it is— adieu 1 



202 TALES OF A TllAVELLER. 

bustle. On this occasion there was more than usual stir ; for 
the Enghshnian having much property about him, and having 
been convinced of the real danger of the road, had applied to 
the police and obtained, by dint of liberal pay, an escort of 
eight dragoons and twelve foot-soldiers, as far a Fondi, 

Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostentation at 
bottom, from which, with great delicacy be it spoken, English 
travellers are not always exempt ; though to say the truth, he 
had nothing of it in his manner. He moved about taciturn 
and reserved as usual, among the gaping crowd in his ginger- 
bread-colored trPvvelling cap, with his hands in his pockets. 
He gave laconic orders to John as he packed away the thou- 
sand and one indispensable conveniencies of the night, double 
loaded his pistols with great sang-froid, and deposited them in 
the pockets of the carriage, taking no notice of a pair of keen 
eyes gazing on him from among the herd of loitering idlers. 
The fair Venetian now came up with a request made in- her 
dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage to proceed 
under protection of his escort. The Englishman, who was 
busy loading another pair of pistols for his servant, and held 
the ramrod between his teeth, nodded assent as a matter of 
course, but without hfting up his eyes. The fair Venetian was 
not accustomed to such indifference. " O Dio !" ejaculated she 
softly as she retired, "come sono freddi qiiesti Ingiesi." At 
length off they set in gallant style, the eight dragoons prancing 
in front, the tAvelve foot-soldiers marching in rear, and car- 
riages moving slowly in the centre to enable the infantry to 
keep pace with them. They had proceeded but a few hundred 
yard when it vf as discovered that some indispensable article 
had been left behind. 

In fact, the Englishman's purse was missing, and John was 
despatched to the inn to search for it. 

This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of the Vene- 
tians drove slowly on. John came back out of breath and out 
of humor ; the purse was not to be found ; his master was irri- 
tated ; he recollected the very place where it lay ; the cursed 
Italian servant had pocketed it. John was again sent back. 
He returned once more, without the i^urse, but with the land- 
lord and the whole household at his heels. A thousand ejacu- 
lations and protestations, accompanied by all sorts of grimaces 
and contortions. "No purse had been seen — his excellenza 
must be mistaken. " 

No— his excellenza was not mistaken; the purse lay on the 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. gQS 

marble table, under the niirror : a green purse, half full of gold 
and silver. Again a thousand grimaces and contortions, and 
vows by San Genario, that no purse of the kind had been seen. 

The Englishman became furious. ' ' The waiter had pocketed 
it. The landlord was a knave. The inn a den of thieves — it 

was a d d country— he had been cheated and plundered 

from one end of it to the other — but he'd have satisfaction — 
he'd drive right off to the police." 

He was on the point of ordering the postilions to turn back, 
when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the carriage, and 
the purse of money fell chinking to the floor. 

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. 

" D n the purse," said he, as he snatched it up. He dashed 

a handful of money on the ground before the pale, cringing 
waiter. ' ' There— be off, " cried he ; " John, order the postihons 
to drive on. " 

Above half an hour had been exhausted in this altercation. 
The Venetian carriage had loitered along; its passengers look- 
ing out from time to time, and expecting the escort every 
moment to follow. They had gradually turned an angle of the 
road that shut them out of sight. The httle army was again in 
motion, and made a very picturesque appearance as it wound 
along at the bottom of the rocks ; the morning sunshine beam- 
ing upon the weapons of soldiery. 

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with him- 
self at what had passed, and consequently out of humor with 
all the world. As this, however, is no uncommon case with 
gentlemen who travel for their pleasure, it is hardly worthy of 
remark. 

They had wound up from the coast among the hills, and 
came to a part of the road that admitted of some prospect 
ahead. 

" I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, leaning 
over from the coach box. 

"Hang the lady's carriage!" said the Englishman, crustily; 
"don't plague me about the lady's carriage; must I be continu- 
ally pestered with strangers?" 

John said not another word, for he understood his master's 
mood. The road grew more wild and lonely; they were slowly 
proceeding in a foot pace up a hdl ; the dragoons were some 
distance ahead, and had just reached the summit of the hill, 
when they uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and gal- 
loped forward. The Enghshman was aroused from his sulky 



204 TALES OF A TEA TELLER. 

revery. He stretched his head from the carriage, which 
had attained the brow of the hill. Before him extended a long 
hollow defile, commanded on one side by rugged, precipitous 
heights, covered with bushes and scanty forest trees. At sonae 
distance he beheld the carriage of the Venitians overturned ; a 
numerous gang of desperadoes were rifling it ; the young man 
and his servant were overpowered and partly stripped, and the 
lady was in the hands of two of the ruffians. The Enghshman 
seized his pistols, sprang from his carriage, and called upon 
John to follow him. In the meantime, as the dragoons came 
forward, the robbers who were busy with the carriage quitted 
their spoil, formed themselves in the middle of the road, and 
taking deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another 
was wounded, and the whole were for a moment checked and 
thrown in confusion. The robbers loaded again in an instant. 
The dragoons had discharged their carbines, but without appa- 
rent effect ; they received another volley, wliich, though none 
fell, threw them again into confusion. The robbers were load- 
ing a second time, when they saw the foot soldiers at hand. — 
"Scampa via!" was the word. They abandoned their prey, 
and retreated up the rocks; the soldiers after them. They 
fought from cliff to cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers turning 
every now and then to fire upon their pursuers ; the soldiers 
scrambling after them, and discharging their muskets when- 
ever they could get a chance. Sometimes a soldier or a robber 
was shot down, and came tumbhng among the cliffs. The dra- 
goons kept firing from below, whenever a robber came in 
sight. 

The Englishman hastened to the scene of action, and the 
balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled past him as he 
advanced. One object, however, engrossed his attention. It 
was the beautiful Venetian lady in the liands of two of the rob- 
bers, whO; during the confusion of the fight, carried her shriek- 
ing up the mountains. He saw her dress gleaming among the 
bushes, and he sprang up the rocks to intercept the robbers as 
they bore off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep and the 
entanglements of the bushes, delayed and impeded him. He 
lost sight of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, which 
grew fainter and fainter. They were off to the left, while the 
report of muskets showed that the battle v/as raging to the 
right. 

At length he came upon what appeared to be a rugged foot- 
path, faintly worn in a gully of the rock, and beheld the nif- 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ROBBER. 205 

fians at some distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of 
them heai'ing his approach let go his prey, advanced towards 
him, and levelhng the carbine which had been slung on his 
back, fired. The ball whizzed through the Englislunan's hat, 
and carried with it some of liis hair. He returned the fire with 
one of liis pistols, and the robber fell. The other brigand now 
dropped the lady, and drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired 
on his adversay with dehberate aim ; the ball passed between 
his left arm and his side, slightly wounding the arm. The 
Englishman advanced and discharged his remaining pistol, 
which wounded the robber, but not severely. The brigand 
drew a stiletto, and rushed upon his adversary, who eluded the 
blow, receiving merely a slight wound, and defending himself 
with his pistol, which had a spring bayonet. They closed with 
one another, and a desperate struggle ensued. The robber was 
a square-built, tliick-set, man, powerful, muscular, and active. 
The Englishman, though of larger frame and greater strength, 
was less active and less accustomed to atliletic exercises and 
feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practised and skilled 
in the art of defence. They were on a craggy height, and the 
Englishman perceived that his antagonist was striving to press 
him to the edge. 

A side glance showed him also the robber whom he had first 
wounded, scrambling up to the assibtance of his comrade, sti- 
letto in hand. He had, in fact, attained the summit of the cliff, 
and the Englishman saw him vvithin a few steps, when he heard 
suddenly the report of a pistol a.nd the ruffian fell. The shot 
came from John, who had arrived just in time to save his 
master. 

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and the 
violence of the contest, shov/ed signs of faltering. His adver- 
sary pursued his advantage ; pressed on him, and as his strength 
relaxed, dashed him headlong from the precipice. He looked 
after him^and saw him lying motionless among the rocks below. 

The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He found 
her senseless on the ground. With his servant's assistance he 
bore her down to the road, where her husband was raving like 
one distracted. 

The occasional discharge of fire-arms along the height showed 
that a retreating fight was still kept up by the robbers. The 
carriage was righted; the baggage was hastily replaced; the 
Venetian, transported with joy and gratitude, took his lovely 
and senseless burthen in his arms, and the party resumed their 



206 TALES OF A THAVELLER. 

route towards Fondi, escorted by the dragoons, leaving the 
foot soldiers to ferret out the banditti. 

While on the way John dressed his master's wounds, which 
were found not to be serious. 

Before arriving at Fondi the fair Venetian had recovered 
from her swoon, and w^as made conscious of her safety and of 
the mode of her deliverance. Her transports were unbounded ; 
and mingled with them were enthusiastic ejaculations of grati- 
tude to her deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach her- 
self for having accused him of coldness and insensibility. The 
moment she saw him she rushed into his arms, and clasped 
him round the neck with all the vivacity of her nation. 

Never was man more embarrassed by the embraces of a fine 
woman. 

" My deliverer! my angel!" exclaimed she. 

" Tut! tut!" said the Englishman. 

" You are wounded!" shrieked the fair Venetian, as she saw 
the blood upon his clothes. 

"Pooh — nothing at all !" 

"0 Dio!" exclaimed she, clasping him again round the neck 
and sobbing on his bosom. 

"Pooh!" exclaimed the Englishman, looking somewhat 
foolish ; ' ' this is all nonsense. " 



TALES OF A TEAYELLER. 



PABT FOVRTH. 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 

Now I remember those old women's words 
Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales; 
And speak of spirits and ghosts that glide by night 
About the place where treasure had been hid. 

Marlow's Jew of Malta. 

HELL GATE. 

About six miles from the renowned city of the Manhattoes, 
and in that Sound, or arm of the sea, which passes between the 
main land and Nassau or Long Island, there is a narrow strait, 
where the current is violently compressed between shouldering 
promontories, and horribly irritated and perplexed by rocks 
and shoals. Being at the best of times a very violent, hasty 
current, its takes these impediments in mighty dudgeon; boil- 
ing in whirlpools ; brawling and fretting in ripples and break- 
ers; and, in short, indulging in all kinds of wrong-headed 
paroxysms. At such times, woe to any unlucky vessel that 
ventures within its clutches. 

This termagant humor is said to prevail only at half tides. 
At low water it is as pacific as any other stream. As the tide 
rises, it begins to fret ; at half tide it rages and roars as if bel- 
lowing for more water ; but when the tide is full it relapses 
again into quiet, and for a tune seems almost to sleep as 
soundly as an alderman after diiuier. It may be compared to 
an inveterate hard drinker, who is a peaceable fellow enough 
when he has no hquor at all, or when he has a skm full, but 
when half seas over plays the very devil. 



203 TALES OF A TRA VELLER. 

This mighty, blustering, bullying little strait v»as a place of 
great difiSculty and danger to the Dutch navigators of ancient 
days; hectoring their tub-built barks in a most unruly style; 
whirhng them about, in a manner to make any but a Dutch- 
man giddy, and not unfrequently stranding them upon rocks 
and reefs. Whereupon out of sheer spleen they denominated 
it Hellegat (literally Hell Gut) and solemnly gave it over to the 
devil. Tliis appellation has since been aptly rendered into 
Enghsh by the name of Hell Gate ; and into nonsense by the 
name of Hurl Gate, according to certain foreign intruders who 
neither understood Dutch nor Enghsh.— May St. Nicholas con- 
found them ! 

From this strait to the city of the Manhattoes the borders of 
the Sound are greatly diversified ; in one part, on the eastern 
shore of the island of Manhata and opposite Blackwell's Island, 
being very much broken and indented by rocky nooks, over- 
hung with trees which give them a wild and romantic look. 

The flux and reflux of the tide through this part of the Sound 
is extremely rapid, and the navigation troublesome, by reason 
of the whirling eddies and counter currents. I speak this from 
experience, having been much of a navigator of these small 
seas in my boyhood, and having more than once run the risk 
of shipwreck and drowning in the course of divers holiday voy- 
ages, to which in common Vv-ith the Dutch urchins I v/as rather 
prone. 

In the midst of this perilous strait, and hard by a group of 
rocks called "the Hen and Chickens," there lay in my boyish 
days the wreck of a vessel which had been entangled in the 
whirlpools and stranded during a storm. There was some wild 
story about this being the wreck of a pirate, and of some 
bloody murder, connected with it, which I cannot now recol- 
lect. Indeed, the desolate look of this forlorn hulk, and the 
fearful place where it lay rotting, were sufiicient to awaken 
strange notions concerning it. A row of timber heads, black- 
ened by time, peered above the surface at high water ; but at 
low tide a considerable part of the hull was bare, and i*s gi^eat 
ribs or timbers, partly stripped of their planks, looked like the 
skeleton of some sea monster. There was also the stump of a 
mast, with a few ropes and blocks swinging about and wlnst- 
Ung in the wind, while the sea gull wheeled and screamed 
around this melancholy carcass. 

The stories connected with tliis wreck made it an object of 
great awe to my boyish fancy ; but in truth the whole neigh- 



KIDD TIW PIRATE. 209 

borhood was full of fable and romance for me, abounding with 
traditions about pirates, hobgoblins, and buried money. As I 
grew to more mature years I made many researches after the 
truth of these strange traditions; for I have always been a 
curioMS investigator of the valuable, but obscure branches of 
the history of my native province. I found infinite difficulty, 
however, in arriving at any precise information. In seeking 
to dig up one fact it is incredible the number of fables which I 
unearthed ; for the whole course of the Sound seemed in my 
younger days to be like the straits of Pylorus of yore, the very 
region of fiction. I wiU say nothing of the Devil's Stepping 
Stones, by which that arch fiend made his retreat from Con- 
necticut to Long Island, seeing that the subject is likely to be 
learnedly treated by a worthy friend and contemporary his- 
torian* whom I have furnished with particulars thereof. 
Neither will I say anything of the black man in a three-cor- 
nered hat, seated in the stern of a jolly boat who used to be 
seen about Hell Gate in stormy weather ; and who went by the 
name of the Pirate's Spuke, or Pirate's Ghost, because I never 
could meet with any person of stanch credibility who professed 
to have seen this spectrum ; unless it were the widow of Manus 
Conklin, the blacksmith of Frog's .Neck, but then, poor woman, 
she was a little purblind, and might have been mistaken; 
though they said she saw farther than other folks in the dark. 
All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard to the 
tales of buried money about which I was most curious ; and the 
following was aU that I could for a long time collect that had 
anytliing Mke an air of authenticity. 



KIDD THE PIRATE? ... 

In old times, just after the territory of the New Netherlands 
had been wrested from the hands of their High Mightinesses, 
the Lords States General of Holland, by Charles the Second, 
and while it was as yet in an unquiet state, the province was a 
favorite resort of adventurers of all kinds, and particularly of 
buccaneers. These were piratical rovers of the deep, who made 

* For a very interesting account of the Devil and his Stepping Stones, see the 
learned memoir read before the New York Historical Society since the death of 
Mr. Knickerbocker, by his friend, an eminent jurist of the place. 



210 TALES OF A TUAVELLER 

sad work in times of peace among the Spanish settlements and 
Spanish merchant ships. They took advantage of the easy ac- 
cess to the harbor of the Manhattoes, and of the laxity of its 
scarcely-organized government, to make it a kind of rendez- 
vous, where they might dispose of their ill-gotten spoils, and 
concert new depredations. Crews of these desperadoes, the 
runagates of every country and chme, might be seen swagger 
ing, in open day, about the streets of the Httle burgh; elbowing 
its quiet Mynheers; trafficking away their rich outlandish 
plunder, at half price, to the wary merchant, and then squan- 
dering their gains in taverns; drinking, gambling, singing, 
swearing, shouting, and astounding the neighborhood with 
sudden brawl and ruffian revelry. 

At length the indignation of government was aroused, and it 
was determined to ferret out this vermin brood from the colo- 
noies. Great consternation took place among the pirates on 
finding justice in pursuit of them, and their old haunts turned 
to places of peril. They secreted their money and jewels in 
lonely out-of-the-way places ; buried them about the wild shores 
of the rivers and sea-coast, and dispersed themselves over the 
face of the country. 

Among the agents employed to hunt them by sea was the 
renowned Captain Kidd. He had long been a hardy adven- 
turer, a kind of equivocal borderer, half trader, half smuggler, 
with a tolerable dash of the pickaroon. He had traded for 
some time among the pirates, lurking about the seas in a little 
rakish, musquito-built vessel, prying into all kinds of odd places, 
as busy as a Mother Carey's chicken in a gale of wind. 

This nondescript personage was pitched upon by government 
as the very man to command a vessel fitted out to cruise 
against the pirates, since he knew all their haunts and lurking- 
places : acting upon the shrewd old maxim of ' ' setting a rogue 
to catch a rogue." Kidd accordingly sailed from New York in 
the Adventure galley, gallantly armed and duly commissioned, 
and steered his course to the Madeiras, to Bonavista, to Mada- 
gascar, and cruised at the entrance of the Eed Sea. Instead, 
however, of making war upon the pirates, he turned pirate 
himself : captured friend or foe ; enriched himself with the spoils 
of a wealthy Indiaman, manned by Moors, though commanded 
by an Englishman, and having disposed of his prize, had the 
hardihood to return to Boston, laden with wealth, with a crew 
of his comrades at liis heels. 

His fame had preceded him. The alarm was given of the 



KIDD TUB PIRATE. 211 

reappearance of this cut-purse of the ocean. Measures were 
taken for his arrest ; but he had time, it is said, to bury the 
greater part of his treasures. He even attempted to draw his 
sword and defend himself when arrested ; but was secured and 
thrown inth prison, with several of his followers. They were 
carried to England in a frigate, where they were tried, con- 
demned, and hanged at Execution Dock. Kidd died hard, for 
the rope with which he was first tied up broke with his weight, 
and he tumbled to the ground ; he was tied up a second time, 
and eifectually; from whence arose the story of his having 
been twice hanged. 

Such is the main outline of Eidd's history ; but it has given 
birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions. The circum- 
stance of his having buried great treasures of gold and jewels 
after returning from his cruising set the brains of all the good 
people along the coast in a ferment. There were rumors on 
rumors of great sums found here and there ; sometimes in one 
part of the country, sometunes in another ; of trees and rocks 
bearing mysterious marks ; doubtless indicating the spots where 
treasure lay hidden. Of coins found with Moorish characters, 
the plunder of Kidd's eastern prize, but which the common 
people took for diabohcal or magic inscriptions. 

Some reported the spoils to have been buried in solitary un- 
settled places about Plymouth and Cape Cod ; many other parts 
of the Eastern coast, also, and various places in Long Island 
Sound, have been gilded by these rumors, and have been ran- 
sacked by adventueous money-diggers. 

In all the stories of these enterprises the devil played a con- 
spicuous part. Either he was conciliated by ceremonies and 
invocations, or some bargain or compact was made with him. 
StiU he was sure to play the money-diggers some slippery trick. 
Some had succeeded so far as to touch the iron chest which 
contained the treasure, when some bafflng circumstance was 
sure to take place. Either the earth v/ouJd fall in and fiU up 
the pit or some direfiil noise or apparition would throw the 
party into a panic and frighten tliem from the place; and 
sometimes the devil himself would appear and bear off the prize 
from their very grasp ; and if they visited the place on the next 
day, not a trace would be seen of their labors of the preceding 
night. 

Such were the vague rumors which for a long time tantalized 
without gratifying my curiosity on the interesting subject of 
these pirate traditions. There is nothing in this world so hard 



«^12 TALES OF A TRAVIiLLER, 

to get at as truth. I sought among my; favorite sources of 
authentic information, the oldest inhabitants, and particularly 
the old Dutch wiues of the province ; but though I flatter myself 
I am better versed than most men in the curious history of my 
native province, yet for a long time my inquiries were un- 
attended with any substantial result. 

At length it happened, one calm day in the latter part of 
summer, that I was relaxing myself from the toils of severe 
study by a day's amusement in fishing in those waters which 
had been the favorite resort of my boyhood. I was in company 
with several worthy burghers of my native city. Our sport 
was indifferent ; the fish did not bite freely ; and we had fre- 
quently changed our fishing ground without bettering our 
luck. We at length anchored close under a ledge of rocky 
coast, on the eastern side of the island of Manhata. It was a 
still, warm day. The stream whirled and dimpled by us with- 
out a wave or even a ripple, and every thing was so calm and 
quiet that it was almost startling when the kingfisher would 
pitch hhnsel from the branch of some dry tree, and after sus- 
pending himseK for a moment in the air to take his aim, would 
souse into the smooth water after his prey. While we were 
lolling in our boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the 
day and the dullness of our sport, one of our party, a Avorthy 
alderman, was overtaken by a slumber, and, as he dozed, suf- 
fered the sinker of his drop-line to lie upon the bottom of the 
river. On waking, he found he had caught something of 
importance, from the weight ; on drawing it to the surface, we 
were much surprised to find a long pistol of very curious and 
outlandish fashion, which, from its rusted condition, and its 
stock being worm-eaten and covered with barnacles, appeared 
to have bepn a long time under water. The unexpected appear- 
ance of this document of warfare occasioned much speculation 
among my pacific companions. One supposed it to have fallen 
there during the revolutionary war. Another, from the peculi- 
arity of its fashion, attributed it to the voyagers in the earliest 
days of the settlement; perchance to the renowned Adrian 
Block, who explored the Sound and discovered Block Island, 
since so noted for its cheese. But a third, after regarding it 
for some time, pronounced it to be of veritable Spanish work- 
manship. 

" I'U warrant," said he, " if this pistol could talk it would tell 
strange stories of hard fights among the Spanish Dons. I've 
not a doubt but it's areUque of the buccaneers of old times." 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. ^Vd 

"Like enough," said another of the party. "There was 
Bradish the pirate, who at the time Lord Bellamont made such 
a stir after the buccaneers, buried money and jewels some- 
where in these parts or on Long-Island ; and then there was 
Captain Kidd—" 

" Ah, that Kidd was a daring dog," said an iron-faced Cape 
Cod whaler. "There's a fine old song about him, all to the 
tune of 

' My name is Robert Kidd, 
As I sailed, as I sailed.' 

And it tells how he gained the devil's good graces by burying 
the Bible: 

' I had the Bible in my hand, 

As T sailed, as I sailed, 
And I bui'ied it in the sand, 
As I sailed.' 

Egad, if this pistol had belonged to him I should set some 
store by it out of sheer curiosity. Ah, well, there's an odd story 
I have heard about one Tom Walker, who, they say, dug up 
some of Kidd's buried money ; and as the fish don't seem to 
bite at present, I'll tell it to you to pass away time." 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 

A FEW miles from Boston, in Massachusetts, there is a deep 
inlet winding several miles into the interior of the coimtry 
from Charles Bay, and terminating in a thickly-wooded 
swamp, or morass. On one side of this inlet is a beautiful 
dark grove ; on the opposite side the kind rises abruptly from the 
water's edge, into a high ridge on which grow a few scattered 
oaks of greit age and immense size. It was under one of these 
gigantic trees, according to old stories, that Kidd the pirate 
buried his treasure. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the 
money in a boat secretly and at night to the very foot of the 
hill. The elevation of the place permitted a good look-out to be 
kept that no one was at hand, while the remarkable trees 
formed good landmarks by which the place might easily be 
found again. The old stories add, moreover, that the devU 
presided at the hiding of the money, and took it under his 
guardianship ; but this, it is well-known, he always does with 



214 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

buried treasure, particularly when it has been ill gotten. Be 
that as it may, Kidd never returned to recover his wealth; 
being shortly after seized at Boston, sent out to England, and 
there hanged for a pirate. 

About the year 1727, just at the time when earthquakes were 
prevalent in New-England, and shook many taU sinners down 
upon their knees, there lived near this place a meagre miserly 
f eUow of the name of Tom Walker. He had a wife as miserly 
as himself ; they were so miserly that they even conspired to 
cheat each other. Whatever the woman could lay hands on 
she hid away ; a hen could not cackle but she was on the alert 
to secure the new-laid q^^. Her husband was continually 
prying about to detect her secret hoards, and many and fierce 
were the conflicts that took place about what ought to have 
been common property. They lived in a forlorn-looking house, 
that stood alone and had an air of starvation. A few straggling 
savin trees, emblems of sterUity, grew near it ; no smoke ever 
curled from its chimney; no traveller stopped at its door, 
A miserable horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the bars of 
a gridiron, stalked about a field where a thin carpet of moss, 
scarcely covering the ragged beds of pudding-stone, tantalized 
and baulked his hunger ; and sometimes he would lean his head 
over the fence, looked piteously at the passer-by, and seem to 
petition deliverance from this la.nd of famine. The house and 
its inmates had altogether a bad name. Tom's wife was a tall 
termagant, fierce of temper, loud of tongue, and strong of arm. 
Her voice was often heard in wordy warfare with her husband ; 
and his face sometimes showed signs that their conflicts were 
not confined to words. No one ventured, however, to interfere 
between them ; the lonely wayfarer shrunk vfitliin himself at 
the horrid clamor and clapper-clawing ; eyed the den of discord 
askance, and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if a bachelor, in 
his celibacy. 

One day that Tom Walker Iiad been to a distant part of the 
neighborhood, he took what he considered a short cut home- 
wards through the sv/amp. Like most short cuts, it was an 
iU-chosen route. The swamp v/as thickly grown with great 
gloomy pines and hemlocks, some of them ninety feet high; 
which made it dark at noon-day, and a retreat for all the owls 
of the neighborhood. It was full of pits and quagmires, partly 
covered with v/eeds and mosses ; where the green surface often 
betrayed the traveller mto a gulf of black smothering mud ; 
there were also dark and stagnant pools, the abodes of the tad- 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 215 

pole, the bull-frog, and the water-snake, and where trunks of 
pines and hemlocks lay half drowned, half rotting, looking 
hke alligators, sleeping in the mire. 

Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through this 
treacherous forest ; stepping from tuft to tuft of rushes and 
roots which afforded precarious footholds among deep sloughs ; 
or pacing carefully, hke a cat, among the prostrate trunks of 
trees ; startled now and then by the sudden screaming of the 
bittern, or the quacking of a wild duck, rising on the wing from 
some solitary pool. At length he arrived at a piece of firm 
ground, which ran out like a peninsula into the deep bosom of 
the swamp. It had been one of the strongholds of the Indians 
during their wars with the first colonists. Here they had 
thrown up a kind of fort which they had looked upon as almost 
impregnable, and had used as a place of refuge for their squaws 
and children. Nothing remained of the Indian fort but a few 
embankments gradually sinking to the level of the surrounding 
earth, and already overgrown in part by oaks and other forest 
trees, the foliage of which formed a contrast to the dark pines 
and hemlocks of the swamp. 

It was late in the dusk of evening that Tom Walker reached 
the old fort, and he paused there for a while to rest himself. 
Any one but he would have felt unwilling to linger in this 
lonely, melancholy place, for the common people had a bad 
opinion of it from the stories handed down from the time of 
the Indian wars ; when it was asserted that the savages held 
incantations here and made sacrifices to the evil spirit. Tom 
Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled with any fears 
of the kind. 

He reposed himself for some time on the trunk of a fallen 
hemlock, listening to the boding cry of the tree-toad, and delv- 
ing with his walking-staff into a mound of black mould at his 
feet. As he turned up the soil unconsciously, his staff struck 
against somethmg hard. He raked it out of the vegetable 
mould, and lo ! a cloven skull with an Indian tomahawk buried 
deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the weapon showed the 
time that had elapsed since this death blow had been given. 
It was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that had taken 
place in this last foothold of the Indian warriors. 

"Humph !" said Tom Walker, as he gave the skull a kick to 
shake the dirt from it. 

'' Let that skuU alone !" said a gruff voice. 

Tom lifted up his eyes and beheld a great black man, seated 



216 TALES OF A TRAVELLEll 

directJy opposite him on the stump of a tree. He was exceed- 
ingly surprised, having neither seen nor heard any one approach, 
and he was still more perplexed on observing, as well as the 
gathering gloom would permit, that the stranger was neither 
negro nor Indian. It is true, he was dressed in a rude, half 
Indian garb, and had a red belt or sash swathed round his body, 
but his face was neither black nor copper color, but swarthy 
and dingy and begrimed with soot, as if he had been accus- 
tomed to toil among fires and forges. He had a shock of coarse 
black hair, that stood out from his head in all directions ; and 
bore an axe on his shoulder. 

He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great red 
eyes. 

"What are you doing in my grounds?" said the black man, 
with a hoarse growling voice. 

"Your grounds?" said Tom, with a sneer; "no more your 
grounds than mine: they belong to Deacon Peabody." 

"Deacon Peabody be d -d," said the stranger, " as I flatter 

myself he will be, if he does not look more to liis own sins and 
less to his neighbor's. Look yonder, and see how Deacon Pea- 
body is faring." 

Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, and 
beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing without, but 
rotten at the core, and saw that it had been nearly hewn 
through, so that the first high wind was likely to blow it down. 
On the bark of the tree was scored the name of Deacon Pea- 
body. He now looked round and found most of the tall trees 
marked with the names of some great men of the colony, and 
aU more or less scored by the axe. The one on which he had 
been seated, and which had evidently just been hewn down, 
bore the name of Crowninshield ; and he recollected a mighty 
rich man of that name, who made a vulgar display of wealth, 
which it was whispered he had acquired by buccaneering. 

' ' He's just ready for burning !" said the black man, with a 
growl of triumph. "You see I am hkely to have a good stock 
of firewood for winter." 

"But what right have you," said Tom, "to cut down Deacon 
Peabody 's timber?" 

"The right of prior claim, " said the other. " This woodland 
belonged to me long before one of your white-faced race put 
foot upon the soil. " 

"And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold?" said Tom. 

' ' Oh, I go by various names. I am the Wild Huntsman in 



TEE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 211 

some countries ; the Black Miner in others. In this neighbor- 
hood I am known by the name of the Black Woodsman. I am 
he to whom the red men devoted this spot, and now and then 
roasted a white man by way of sweet-smeliing sacrifice. Since 
the red men have been exterminated by you white savages, I 
amuse myself by presiding at the persecutions of quakers and 
anabaptists ; I am the great patron and prompter of slave dea- 
lers, and the grand master of the Salem witches." 

"The upshot of all which is, that, if I mistake not," said 
Tom, sturdily, "you are he commonly called Old Scratch." 

"The same at your service !" replied the black man, with a 
half civil nod. 

Such vf as the opening of this interview, according to the old 
story, though it has almost too familiar an air to be credited. 
One would think that to meet with such a singular personage 
in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any man's nerves : 
but Tom was a hard -minded fellow, not easily daunted, and he 
had lived so long with a termagant mfe, that he did not even 
fear the devil. 

It is said that after this commencement they had a long and 
earnest conversation together, as Tom returned homewards. 
The black man told him of great sums of money which had 
been buried by Kidd the pirate, under the oak trees on the liigh 
ridge not far from the morass. All these were under his com- 
mand and protected by liis power, so that none could find them 
but such as propitiated his favor. These he offered to place 
within Tom Walker's reach, having conceived an especial kind- 
ness for him: but they were to be had only on certain con- 
ditions. What these conditions were, may easily be surmised, 
though Tom never disclosed them publicly. They must have 
been very hard, for he required time to think of them, and he 
was not a man to stick at trifles where money was in view. 
When they had reached the edge of the swamp the stranger 
paused. 

"What proof have I that aU you have been telling me is 
true?" said Tom. 

"There is my signature," said the black man, pressing his 
finger dn Tom's forehead. So saying, he turned off among the 
thickets of the swamp, and seemed, as Tom said, to go down, 
down, down, into the earth, until nothing but his head and 
shoulders could be seen, and so on until he totally disap- 
pea^red. 

When Tom reached home ho found the black print of a fin- 



218 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

ger burnt, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing could 
obhterate. 

The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden death 
of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It was 
announced ij^ the papers with the usual flourish, that " a great 
man had fallen in Israel." 

Tom recollected the tree which his blacb friend had just hewn 
down, and which was ready for burning. ' ' Let the freebooter 
roast," said Tom, "who cares!" He now felt convinced that 
all he had heard and seen was no illusion. 

He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence ; but as 
this was an uneasy secret, he willingly shared it with her. All 
her avarice was awakened at the mention of hidden gold, and 
she urged her husband to comply with the black man's terms 
and secure what would make them wealthy for hfe. However 
Tom might have felt disposed to sell himself to the devil, he 
was determined not to do so to oblige his vvife; so he fiatly 
refused out of the mere spirit of contradiction. Many and bit- 
ter were the quarrels they had on the subject, but the more 
she talked the more resolute v/as Tom not to be darmied to 
please her. At length she determined to drive the bargain on 
her own account, and if she succeeded, to keep aU the gain to 
herself. 

Being of the same fearless temper as her husband, she sat off 
for the old . Indian fort towards the close of a summer's day. 
She was many hour's absent. Yf hen slie came back she was 
reserved and sullen in her replies. She spoke something of a 
black man whom she had met about twilight, hewing at the 
root of a tall tree. He was sulky, however, and would not 
come to terms ; she v^as to go again with a propitiatory offer- 
ing, but what it was she f orebore to say. 

The next evening she sat off again for the swamp, with her 
apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, but in 
vain: midnight came, but she did not make her appearance; 
morning, noon, night returned, but still she did not come. 
Tom now grew uneasy for her safety ; especially as he found 
she had carried off in her apron the silver tea pot and spoons 
and every portable article of value. Another night elapsed, 
another morning came; but no wife. In a word, she was 
never heard of more. 

What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of so 
many pretending to know. It is one of those facts that have 
become confounded by a variety of historians. Some asserted 



THE DEVIL JiV'Z> TOM WALKER. 219 

that she lost her way among the tangled mazes of the swamp 
and sunk into some pit or slough ; others, more uncharitable, 
hinted that she had eloped with the household booty, and 
made off to some other province ; while others assert that the 
tempter had decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, on top of 
which her hat was found lying. In conlirmation of this, it 
was said a great black man with an axe on liis shoulder 
was seen late that very evening coming out of the swamp, 
carrying a bundle tied in a check apron, with an air of surly 
triumph. 

The most current and probable story, however, observes that 
Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his wife and 
his property that he sat out at length to seek them both 
at tlie Indian fort. During a long summer's afternoon he 
searched about the gloomy place, but no wife was to be seen. 
He called her name repeatedly, but she was no where to be 
heard. The bittern alone responded to his voice, as he flew 
screaming by ; or the bull-frog croaked dolefully from a neigh- 
boring pool. At length, it is said, just in the brown hour of 
twihght, when the owls began to hoot and the bats to flit about, 
his attention was attracted by the clamor of carrion crows that 
were hovering about a cypress tree. He looked and beheld a 
bundle tied in a check apron and hanging in the branches of 
a tree ; with a great vulture perched hard by, as if keeping 
watch upon it. He leaped with joy, for he recognized his 
wife's apron, and supposed it to contain the household valu- 
ables. 

"Let us get hold of the property," said he consolingly to him- 
self, "and we will endeavor to do without the woman." 

As he scrambled up the tree the vulture spread its wide 
wings, and sailed off screaming into the deep shadows of the 
forest. Tom seized the check apron, but, woful sight! found 
nothing but a heart and liver tied up in it. 

Such, according to the most authentic old story, was aU that 
was to be found of Tom's wife. She had probably attempted 
to deal with the black man as she had been accustomed to deal 
with her husband ; but though a female scold is generally con- 
isidered a match for the devil, yet in this instance she appears 
to have had the worst of it. She must have died game, how- 
ever : from the part that remained unconquered. Indeed, it is 
said Tom noticed many prints of cloven feet deeply stamped 
about the tree, and several handfuls of hair that looked as if 
they had been plucked from the coarse black shock of the 



220 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

woodsman. Tom knew his wife's prowess by experience. He 
shrugged his shoulders as he looked at the signs of a fierce 
clapper-clawing. "Egad," said he to himself, "Old Scratch 
must have had a tough time of it !" 

Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property by the loss 
of his wife ; for he was a little of a philosopher. He even felt 
something like gratitude towards the black woodsman, who he 
considered had done him a kindness. He sought, therefore, to 
cultivate a farther acquaintance with him, but for some time 
without success ; the old black legs played shy, for whatever 
people may think, he is not always to be had for calling for; 
he knows how to play his cards when pretty sure of his game. 

At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's eager- 
ness to the quick, and prepared him to agree to any thing 
rather than not gain the promised treasure, he met the black 
man one evening in his usual woodman dress, with his axe on 
his shoulder, sauntering along the edge of the swamp, and 
humming a tune. He affected to receive Tom's advance with 
great indifference, made brief replies, and went on humming 
his tune. 

By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and 
they began to haggle about the terms on vf liich the former was 
to have the pirate's treasure. There was one condition which 
need not be mentioned, being generally understood in a^ll cases 
where the devil grants fa.vors; but there were others about 
which, though of less importance, he v/as inflexibly obstinate. 
He insisted that the money found through his means should 
be employed in his service. He proposed, therefore, that Tom 
should employ it in the black traffic ; that is to say, that he 
should fit out a slave ship. This, however, Tom resolutely re- 
fused ; he was bad enough, in all conscience ; but the devil hdm- 
self could not tempt him to turn slave dealer. 

Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not insist 
upon it, but proposed instead that he should turn usurer ; the 
devil being extremely anxious for the increase of usurers, look- 
ing upon them as his peculiar people. 

To this no objections were made, for it was just to Tom's 
taste. 

"You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next month," 
said the black man. 

"Ill do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom Walker. 

"You shall lend money at two per cent a month." 

"Egad, I'll charge four!" replied Tom Walker. 



THE DEVIL AJSt) TOM WALKEU. 221 

"You sliall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the mer- 
chant to bankruptcy " 

"I'll drive him to the d 1," cried Tom Walker, eagerly. 

"You are the usurer for my money!" said the black legs, 
with delight. " When will you want the rhino?" 

"This very night." 

"Done!" said the devil. 

"Done !" said Tom Walker.— So they shook hands and struck 
a bargain. 

A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated behind his desk in 
a counting house in Boston. His reputation for a ready- 
moneyed man, who would lend money out for a good consider- 
ation, soon spread abroad. Every body remembers the days of 
Governor Belcher, when money was particularly scarce. It 
was a time of paper credit. The country had been deluged 
with govermnent bills ; the famous Land Bank had been estab- 
hshed ; there had been a rage for speculating ; the people had 
run mad with schemes for new settlements ; for building cities 
in the wilderness; land jobbers went about with maps of 
grants, and townships, and Eldorados, lying nobody knew 
where, but which every body was ready to purchase. In ? 
word, the great specula^ting fever which breaks out every now 
and then in the country, had raged to an alarming degree, and 
body was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from nothing. 
As usual, the fever had subsided ; the dream had gone off, and 
the imaginary fortunes with it ; the patients were left in doleful 
plight, and the whole country resounded with the consequent 
cry of "hard times." 

At this propitious time of pubKc distress did Tom Walker set 
up as a usurer in Boston. His door was soon thronged by cus- 
tomers. The needy and the adventurous ; the gambling specu- 
lator; the dreaming land jobber; the thriftless tradesman ; the 
merchant with cracked credit; in short, every one driven to 
raise money by desperate means and desperate sacrifices, hur- 
ried to Tom Yf alker. 

Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and he 
acted like a "friend in need;" that is to say, he always exacted 
good pay and good security. In proportion to the distress of 
the applicant was the hardness of his terms. He accumulated 
bonds and mortgages ; gradually squeezed his customers closer 
and closer ; and sent them, at length, dry as a sponge from his 
door. 

In this way he made money hand over hand ; became a rich 



222 TALES OF A TBAVELLEll 

and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat upon 'change. 
He biiiit himself, as usual, a vast house, out of ostentation ; but 
left the greater part of it unfinished and unfurnished out of 
parsimony. He even set up a carriage in the fullness of his 
vain-glory, though he nearly starved the horses which drew it ; 
and as the ungreased wheels groaned and screeched on the axie^ 
trees, you would have thought you heard the souls of the poor 
debtors he was squeezing. 

As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having 
secured the good things of this world, he began to feel anxious 
about those of the next. He thought with regret on the bargain 
he had made with his black friend, and set his wits to work to 
cheat hun out of the conditions. He became, therefore, all of a 
sudden, a violent church-goer. He prayed loudly and strenu- 
ously as if heaven were to be taken by force of lungs. Indeed, 
one might always tell when he had sinned most during the 
week, by the clamor of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Chris- 
tians vv^ho had been modestly and steadfastly travelling Zion- 
ward, were struck with self-reproach at seeing themselves so 
suddenly outstripped in their career by this new-made convert. 
Tom was as rigid in religious, as m money matters ; he was a 
stern supervisor and censurer of his neighbors, and seemed to 
think every sin entered up to their account became a credit on 
his own side of the page. He even talked of the expediency of 
reviving the persecution of quakers and anabaptists. In a 
word, Tom's zeal became as notorious as his riches. 

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, Tom 
had a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would have his 
due. That he might not be taken unawares, therefore, it is said 
he always carried a smaU Bible in liis coat pocket. He had 
also a great foho Bible on his counting-house desk, and would 
frequently be found reading it when people called on business ; 
on such occasions he would lay his green spectacles on the 
book, to mark the place, while he turned round to drive some 
usurious bargain. 

Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old 
days, and that fancying his end approaching, he had liis horse 
new shod, saddled and bridled, and buried with his feet upper- 
most ; because he supposed that at the last day the world would 
be turned upside down ; in which case he should find his horse 
standing ready for mounting, and he was determined at the 
worst to give his old friend a run for it. This, however, is 
probably a mere old wives' fable. If he really did take such a 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 223 

precaution it was totally superfluous; at least so says the 
authentic old legend, which closes his story in the following 
manner : 

On one hot afternoon m the dog days, just as a terrible black 
thunder-gust was coming up, Tom sat in his counting-house in 
his white linen cap and India silk morning-gown. He was on 
the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by which he would com- 
X3lete the ruin of an unlucky land speculator for w^hom he had 
professed the greatest friendship. The poor land jobber begged 
him to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy 
and irritated and refused another day. 

" My family will be ruined and brought upon the parish," 
said the land jobber. " Charity begins at home," replied Tom, 
"I must take care of myself in these hard times." 

" You have made so much money out of me," said the specu- 
lator. 

Tom lost his patience and his piety— " The devil take me," 
said he, " if I have made a farthing ! " 

Just then there were thi^ee loud knocks at the street door. 
He stepped out to see who was there. A black man was hold- 
ing a black horse which neighed and stamped with impatience. 

" Tom, you're come for ! " said the black fellow, gruffly. Tom 
shrunk back, but too late. He had left his little Bible at the 
bottom of his coat pocket, and his big Bible on the desk buried 
under the mortgage he was about to foreclose : never was sin- 
ner taken more unawares. The black man whisked Mm like 
a child astride the horse and away he galloped in the midst of 
a thunder-storm. The clerks stuck their pens behind their ears 
and stared after him from the windows. Away went Tom 
Walker, dashing down the street; his white cap bobbing up 
and down ; his morning-gown fluttering in the wind, and his 
steed striking flre out of the pavement at every bound. When 
the clerks turned to look for the black man he had disappeared. 

Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. A 
countryman who hved on the borders of the swamp, reported 
that in the height of the thunder-gust he had heard a great 
clattering of hoofs and a howling along the road, and that when 
he ran to the window he just caught sight of a figure, such as 
I have described, on a horse that galloped like mad across the 
fields, over the hills and down into the black hemlock swamp 
towards the old Indian fort ; and that shorty after a thunder- 
bolt fell in that direction which seemed to set the whole forest 
in a blaze. 



224 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

The good people of Boston shook their heads and shrugged 
their shoulders, but had been so much accustomed to witches 
and goblins and tricks of the devil in all kinds of shapes from 
the first settlement of the colony, that they were not so much 
horror-struck as might have been expected. Trustees were 
appointed to take charge of Tom's effects. There was nothing, 
however, to administer upon. On searching his coffers all his 
bonds and mortgages were found reduced to cinders. In place 
of gold and silver, his iron chest was filled with chips and shav- 
ings ; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half-starved 
horses, and the very next day his great house took fire and 
was burnt to the ground. 

Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-gotten wealth. 
Let all griping money-brokers lay this story to heart. The 
truth of it is not to be doubted. The very hole under the oak 
trees, from whence he dug Eidd's money, is to be seen to this 
day ; and the neighboring swamp and old Indian fort is often 
haunted in stormy nights by a figure on horseback, in a morn- 
ing-gown and white cap, which is doubtless the troubled spirit 
of the usurer. In fact, the story ha.s resolved itself into a 
proverb, and is the origin of that popular saying prevalent 
throughout New-England, of " The Devil and Tom Walker." 

Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the tenor of the tale 
told by the Cape Cod whaler. There were divers trivial par- 
ticulars which I have omitted, and which wiled away the 
morning very pleasantly, until the tune of tide favorable for 
fishing being passed, it was proposed that we should go to 
land, and refresh ourselves under the trees, until the noontide 
heat should have abated. 

We accordingly landed on a delectable part of the island of 
Mannahatta, in that shady and embowered tract formerly 
under dominion of the ancient family of the Hardenbrooks. 
It was a spot well known to me in the course of the aquatic 
expeditions of my boyhood. Not far from where we landed, 
was an old Dutch family vault, in the side of a bank, which 
had been an object of great awe and fable among my school- 
boy associates. There were several mouldering coffins within ; 
but what gave it a fearful interest with us, was its being con- 
nected in our minds with the pirate wreck vfhich lay among 
the rocks of Hell Gate. There were also stories of smugghng 
connected with it, particularly during a time that this retired 
spot was owned by a noted burgher called Ready Money Pre- 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 225 

vost ; a man of whom it was whispered that he had many and 
mysterious dealings with parts beyond seas. All these things, 
however, had been jumbled together in our minds in that vague 
way in which such things are mingled up in the tales of boy- 
hood. 

While I was musing upon these matters my companions had 
spread a repast, from the contents of our well-stored pannier, 
and we solaced ourselves during the warm sunny hours of 
mid-day under the shade of a broad chestnut, on the cool 
grassy carpet that swep'c down to the water's edge. While 
lolhng on the grass I summoned up the dusky recollections of 
my boyhood respecting this place, and repeated them like the 
imperfectly remembered traces of a dream, for the entertain- 
ment of my companions. When I had finished, a worthy old 
bm^gher, John Josse Vandermoere, tbe same who once related 
to me the adventures of Dolph Heyhger, broke silence and 
observed, that he recollected a story about money-digging 
which occurred in tliis very neighborhood. As we knew him 
to be one of the most authentic narrators of the province we 
begged him to let us have the particulars, and accordingly, 
while we refreshed ourselves with a clean long pipe of Blase 
]\Ioore's tobacco, the authentic John Josse Vandermoere related 
the following tale. 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 

In the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and — blank 
— for I do not remember the precise date; however, it was 
somewhere in the early part of the last century, there lived in 
the ancient city of the Manhattoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert 
Webber by name. He was descended from old Cobus Webber 
of the BriUe in Holland, one of the original settlers, famous for 
introducing the cultivation of cabbages, and who came over to 
the province during the protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt, 
otherwise called the Dreamer. 

The licld in which Cobus Webber first planted himself and 
his cabbages had remained ever since in the family, who con- 
tinued in the same line of husbandry, with that praiseworthy 
perseverance for which our Dutch burghers are noted. The 
whole family genius, during several generations was devoted 



226 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

to the study and development of this one noble vegetable ; and 
to this concentration of intellect may doubtless be ascribed the 
prodigious size and renown to which the Webber cabbages 
attained. 

The Webber dynasty continued in uninterrupted succession; 
and never did a line give more unquestionable proofs of legiti- 
macy. The eldest son succeeded to the looks, as well as the 
territory of his sire ; and had the portraits of this line of tran- 
quil potentates been taken, they would have presented a row 
of heads marvellously resembling in shape and magnitude the 
vegetables over which they reigned. 

The seat of government continued unchanged in the family 
mansion : — a Dutch-built house, with a front, or rather gable- 
end of yellow brick, tapering to a point, with the customary 
iron weathercock at the top. Every thing about the building 
bore the air of long-settled ease and security. Flights of 
martins peopled the little coops nailed against the walls, and 
swallows built their nests under the eaves; and every one 
knows that these house-loving birds bring good luck to the 
dwelling VN^here they take up their abode. In a bright sunny 
morning in early summer, it was delectable to hear their 
cheerful notes, as they sported about in the pure, sweet air, 
chirping forth, as it were, the greatness and prosperity of the 
Webbers. 

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family vege- 
tate under the shade of a mighty button-wood tree, which by 
little and little grew so great as entirely to overshadow their 
palace. The city gradually spread its suburbs round their 
domain. Houses sprung up to interrupt their prospects. The 
rural lanes in the vicinity began to grow into the bustle and 
populousness of streets; in short, with all the habits of rustic 
life they began to find themselves the inhabitants of a city. 
Still, however, they maintained their hereditary character, and 
hereditary possessions, with all the tenacity of petty German 
princes in the midst of the Empire. Yv^'olfert was the last of 
the line, and succeeded to the patriarchal bench at the door, 
under the family tree, and swayed the sceptre of his fathers, a 
kind of rural potentate in the midst of a metropolis. 

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty, he had taken 
unto himself a help-mate, one of that excellent kind called 
stirring women ; that is to say, she was one of those notable 
httle housewives who are always busy when there is nothing 
to do. Her activity however, took one particular direction ; 



WOLFEBT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 227 

her whole life seemed devoted to intense knitting ; whether at 
home or abroad; walking or sitting, her needles were continu- 
ally in motion, and it is even affirmed that by her unwearied 
industry she very nearly supplied her household with stock- 
ings throughout the year. This worthy couple were blessed 
with one daughter, who was brought up with great tenderness 
and care; uncommon pains had been taken Y>^ith her educa- 
tion, so that she could stitch in every variety of way ; make 
all kinds of pickles and preserves, and mark her own name on 
a sampler. The influence of her taste was seen also in the 
family garden, where the ornamental began to mingle with the 
useful ; whole rows of fiery marigolds and splendid hollyhocks 
bordered the^cabbage-beds ; and gigantic sunflowers lolled their 
broad, joU}^ faces over the fences, seeming to ogle most affecti- 
onately the passers-by. 

Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over his pa-ter- 
nal acres, peaceably and contentedly. Not but that, like all 
other sovereigns, he had his occasional cares and vexations. 
The growth of his native city sometimes caused hun annoy- 
ance. His little territory gradually became hemmed in by 
streets and houses, which intercepted air and sunshine. He 
was now and then subject to the irruptions of the border popu- 
lation, that infest the streets of a metropolis, who would some- 
times make midnight forays into Ms dominions, and carry off 
captive whole platoons of his noblest subjects. Vagrant swine 
would make a descent, too, now and then, when the gate was 
left ox3en, and lay all waste before them; and mischievous 
urchins would often decapitate the illustrious sunflowers, the 
glory of the garden, as they lolled their heads so fondly over 
the walls. Still all these were petty grievances, which might 
now and then ruffle the surface of his mind, as a summer 
breeze vv^iU rufiae the surface of a mill-pond; but they could 
not disturb the deep-sea.ted quiet of his soul. He would seize a 
trusty staff, that stood behind the door, issue suddenly out, 
and anoint the back of the aggressor, vv^hether pig or urchin, 
and then return within doors, marvellously refreshed and 
tranquillized. 

The chief cause of anxiety to honest Wolfert, however, was 
the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of livuig 
doubled and trebled ; but he could not double and treble the 
magnitude of his cabbages; and tlie number of competitors 
prevented the increase of price ; thus, therefore, while every one 
around him grew richer, Wolfei't grew poorer, and he could 



228 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

not, for the life of him, perceive how the evil was to he 
remedied. 

This growing care which increased from day to day, had its 
gradual effect upon our worthy burgher ; insomuch, that it at 
length implanted two or three wrinkles on his brow; things 
unknown before in the family of the Webbers ; and it seemed to 
pinch up the corners of his cocked hat into an expression of 
anxiety, totally opposite to the tranquil, broad-brimmed, low- 
cro^vned beavers of hi? illustrious progenitors. 

Perhaps even this would not have materially disturbed the 
serenity of his mind had he had only himself and his wife to care 
for ; but there was his daughter gradually growing to maturity ; 
and all the world knows when daughters begin to ripen no 
fruit or flower requires so much looking after. I have no talent 
at describing female charms, else fain would I depict the progress 
of this little Dutch beauty. How her blue eyes grev^r deeper 
and deeper, and her cherry lips redder and redder; and how 
she ripened and ripened, and rounded and rounded in the 
opening breath of sixteen summers, until, in her seventeenth 
spring, she seemed ready to burst out of her boddice like a half- 
blown rose-bud. 

Ah, well-a-day ! could I but show her as she was then, tricked 
out on a Sunday morning in the hereditary finery of the old 
Dutch clothes-press, of which her mother had confided to her the 
key. The wedding dress of her grandmother, modernized for 
use, with sundry ornaments, handed down as heirlooms in the 
family. Her pale brown hair smoothed v/ith buttermilk in flat 
waving lines on each side of her fair forehead. The chain of 
yellow virgin gold, that encircled her neck ; the little cross, that 
just rested at the entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as if it 
would sanctify the place. The— but pooh !— it is not for an old 
man like me to be prosing about female beauty : suffice it to say, 
Amy had attained her seventeenth year. Long since had her 
sampler exhibited hearts in couples desperately transfixed with 
arrows, and true lovers' knots worked in deep blue silk ; and it 
was evident she began to languish for some more interesting 
occupation than the rearing of sunflowers or pickhng of 
cucumbers. 

At this critical period of female existence, when the heart 
withiQ a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the miniature which 
hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a single image, a new 
visitor began to make his appearance under the roof of Wolfert 
Webber. This was Dirk Waldron, the only son of a poor 



WOLFEET WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN BREAMS. 229 

widow, but who could boast of more fathers than r,ny lad in 
the province ; for his mother had had four husbands, and this 
only child, so that though born in her last wedlock, he might 
fairly claim to be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultiva- 
tion. This son of four fathers united the merits and the vigor 
of his sires. If he had not a great family before liim, he 
seemed hkely to have a great one after him ; for you had only 
to look at the fresh gamesome youth, to see that he was formed 
to be the founder of a mighty race. 

This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor of the 
family. He taiked little, but he sat long. He filled the father's 
pipe when it was empty, gathered up the mother's knitting- 
needle, or ball of worsted when it fell to the ground; 'stroked 
the sleek coat of the tortoise-shell cat, and replenished the tea- 
pot for the daughter from the bright copper kettle that sung 
before the fire. All these quiet little ofiices may seem of trifl- 
ing import, but when true love is tra.nslated into Low Dutch, 
it is in this way that it eloquently expresses itself. They were 
not lost upon the Webber family. The winning youngster 
found marvellous favor in the eyes of the mother ; the tortoise- 
shell cat, albeit the most staid and demure of her kind, gave 
indubitable signs of approbation of liis visits, the tea-kettle 
seemed to sing out a cheering note of welcome at his approach, 
and if the sly glances of the daughter might be rightly read, as 
she sat bridling and dimpling, and sewing by her mother's 
side, she was not a wit behind Dame Webber, or grimalkin, or 
the tea-kettle in good-will. 

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. Pro- 
foundly wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the city and 
his cabbages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing his pipe in 
silence. One night, however, as the gentle Amy, according to 
custom, Mglited her lover to the outer door, and he, according 
to custom, took his parting salute, the smack resounded so vigor- 
ously through the long, silent entry as to startle even the dull ear 
of Wolfert. He was slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. 
It had never entered into his head, that this mere child, 
who, as it seemed but the other day, had been climbing about 
his knees, and playing with dolls and baby-houses, could all at 
once be thinking of love and matrimony. He rubbed his eyes, 
examined into the fact, and really found that while he had 
been dreaming of other matters, she had actually grown into a 
woman, and what was more, had fallen in love. Here were 
new cares for poor Wolfert. He was a kind father, but he 



930 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

was a prudent man. The young man was a very stirring lad ; 
but then he had neither money or land. Wolfert's ideas all 
ran in one channel, and he saw no alternative in case of a mar- 
riage, but to portion off the young couple with a corner of his 
cabbage garden, the whole of which was barely suificient for 
the support of his family. 

Like a prudent father, thei'efore, he determmed to nip this 
passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the house, though 
sorely did it go agpinst his fatherly heart, and many a silent 
tear did it cause in the bright eye of his daughter. She showed 
herself, however, a pattern of filial piety and obedience. She 
never pouted and sulked ; she never flew in the face of parental 
authority ; she never fell into a passion, or fell into hysterics, 
as many romantic novel-read young ladies would do. Not she, 
indeeed ! She was none such heroical rebellious trumpery, I 
warrant ye. On the contrary, she acquiesced like an obedient 
daughter ; shut the street-door in her lover's face, and if ever 
she did grant him an interview, it was either out of the kitchen 
window, or over the garden garden fence. 

WoKert was deeply cogitating these things in his mind, and 
his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he wended his way 
one Saturday afternoon to a rural inn, about two miles from 
the city. It was a favorite resort of the Dutch part of the 
community from being always held by a Dutch hne of land- 
lords, and retaining an air and rehsh of the good old times. It 
was a Dutch-built house, that had probably been a country 
seat of some opulent burgher in the early time of the settle- 
ment. It stood nea.r a point of land, called Corlears Hook, 
wliich stretches out into the Sound, and against which the tide, 
at its flux and reflux, sets with extraordinary rapidity. The 
venerable and somewhat crazy mansion was distinguished 
from afar, by a grove of elms and sycamores that seemed to 
wave a hospitable invitation, wliile a few weeping willows with 
their dank, drooping foliage, resembling falling waters, gave 
an idea of coolness, that rendered it an attractive spot during 
the heats of summer. 

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old inhabi- 
tants of the Manhattoes, where, while some played at the shuf- 
fle-board and quoits and ninepins, others smoked a dehberate 
i:»ipe, and talked over public affairs. 

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert made 
his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and wiUows was stripped 
of its leaves, v/hich whirled in rustling eddies about the fields. 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 2B1 

The ninepin alley was deserted, for the premature chilliness 
of the day had driven the company within doors. As it was 
Saturday afternoon, the habitual club was in session, composed 
principally of regular Dutch burghers, though mingled occa- 
sionally with persons of various character and countiy, as is 
natural in a j)lace of such motley population. 

Beside the fire-place, and in a huge leather-bottomed arm- 
chair, sat the dictator of this little world, the venerable Rem, 
or, as it was pronounced, Ramm Rapelye. He was a man of 
Walloon race, and illustrious for the antiquity of his line, his 
great grandmother having been the first white child born in 
the province. But he was still more illustrious for liis wealth 
and dignity : he had long fiUed the noble office of alderman, 
and was a man to whom the governor himself took off his hat. 
He had maintained possession of the leathern-bottomed chair 
from time unmemorial ; and had gradually waxed in bulk as 
he sat in his seat of government, until m the course of years he 
filled its whole ma^gnitude. His word was decisive with his 
subjects ; for he was so rich a man, that he was never expected 
to support any opinion by argmnent. The la^ndlord waited on 
him with peculiar ofiiciousness ; not that he paid better than 
his neighbors, but then the coin of a rich man seems always to 
be so much more acceptable. The landlord had always a pleas- 
ant word and a jokCj to insinuate in the ear of the august Ramm. 
It is true, Ramm never laughed, and, indeed, maintained a 
mastiff -like gravity, and even surliness of aspect, yet he now 
and then rewarded mine host T\^ith a token of approbation; 
which, though nothing more nor less than a kind of grunt, yet 
dehghted the landlord more than a broad laugh from a poorer 
man. 

"This will be a rough night tor the money-diggers," said 
mine host, as a gust of wind howled round the house, and rat- 
tled at the windows. 

"What, are they at their works again?" said an Enghsh half- 
pay captain, mth one eye, who was a frequent attendant at 
the inn. 

"Aye, are they," said the landlord, "and well may they be. 
They've had luck of late. They say a great pot of money has 
been dug up in the field, just behind Stuyvesant's orchard. 
Folks think it must have been buried there in old times by 
Peter Stuyvesant, the Dutch Governor. " 

"Fudge !" said the one-eyed man of war, as he added a small 
portion of water to a bottom of brandy. 



232 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

"Well, you may believe, or not, as you please," said mine 
host, somewhat nettled; "but every body knows that the old 
governor buried a great deal of his money at the time of the 
Dutch troubles, when the English re(3,-coats seized on the prov- 
ince. They say, too, the old gentleman walks ; aye, and in the 
very same dress that he wears in the picture which hangs up 
in the family house." 

" Fudge!" said the half -pay officer. 

"Fudge, if you please! — But didn't Corney Van Zandt see 
him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow v^^ith his 
wooden leg, and a drawn sword in liis hand, that flashed hke 
fir^e? And what can he be walking for, but because people 
have been troubling the place where he buried his money in 
old tunes?" 

Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural sounds 
from Eamm Eapelye, betokening that he was laboring with the 
unusual i)roduction of an idea. As he was too great a man to 
be slighted by a prudent pubhcan, mine host respectfully paused 
until he should deliver himself. The corpulent frame of this 
mighty burgher now gave all the symptoms of a volcanic 
mountain on the point of an eruption. First, there was a cer^ 
tain heaving of the abdomen, not unlike an earthquake ; then 
was emitted a cloud of tobacco smoke from that crater, his 
mouth ; then ihere was a kind of rattle in the throat, as if the 
idea were working its way up through a region of phlegm ; 
then there were several disjointed members of a sentence 
thrown out, ending in a cough ; at length his voice forced its 
way in the slow, but absolute tone of a man who feels the 
weight of his purse, if not of his ideas ; every portion of liis 
speech being marked by a testy puff of tobacco sm^oke. 

"Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking? — puff— Have 
people no respect for persons?— puff— puff— Peter Stuyvesant 
knew better v»rhat to do with his money than to bury it — puff — 
I know the Stuyvesant family — puff — every one of them — puff 
— not a more respectable family in the province — puff — old 
standers — puff — waim householders — puff — none of your up- 
starts— puff— puff— puff.— Don't talk to me of Peter Stuyves- 
ant's walking— puff— puff— puff —puff . " 

Here the redoubtable Eanmi contracted his brow, clasped up 
his mouth, till it wrinkled at each corner, and redoubled his 
smoking with such vehemence, that the cloudly volumes soon 
wreathed round his head, as the smoke envelopes the awful 
summit of Hount Etna, 



WOLFEllT Vy^iBBER; OR, 

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this very- 
rich man. The subject, however, was too interesting to be 
readily abandoned. The conversation soon broke forth again 
from the lips of Peechy Prauw Van Hook, tlie chronicler of the 
club, one of those narrative old men who seem to grow incon- 
tinent of words, as they grow old, until their talk flows from 
them almost invohmtarily. 

Peechy, who could at any time tell as many stories in an 
evening as liis hearers could digest in a month, now resumed 
the conversation, by affirming that, to his knowledge, money 
had at different times been dug up in various parts of the 
island. The lucky persons who had discovered them had 
always dreamt of them three times beforehand, and what 
was worthy of remark, these treasures had never been found 
but by some descendant of the good old Dutch fa^iuilies, which 
clearly proved that they had been buried by Dutchman in the 
olden time. 

"Fiddle-stick with your Dutchman!" cried the haK-pay 
oificer. " The Dutch had nothing to do with them. They 
were all buried by Kidd, the pirate, and his crew. " 

Here a key-note was touched that roused the whole company. 
The name of Captain Kidd was like a talisman in those times, 
and was associated with a thousand marvellous stories. 

The half-pay officer was a man of great weight among the 
peaceable members of the club, by reason of his mihtary 
chciracter, and of the gunpowder scenes which, by his own ac- 
count, he had witneessed. 

The golden stories of Kidd, however, were resolutely rivalled 
by the tales of Peechy Prauw, who, rather than suffer his 
Dutch progenitors to be eclipsed by a foreign freebooter, en- 
riched every spot in the neighborhood with the hidden wealth 
of Peter Stuy vesant and his contemporaries. 

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolf ert Web- 
ber. He returned pensively home, full of magnificent ideas of 
buried riches. The soil of his native island seemed to be 
turned into gold-dust ; and every field teemed with treasure. 
His head almost reeled at the thought how often he must have 
heedlessly rambled over places where countless sums lay, 
scarcely covered by the turf beneath his feet. His mind was 
in a vertigo with tliis whirl of new ideas. As he came in sight 
of the venerable mansion of his forefathers, and the little realm 
where the Webbers had so long and so contentedly flourished, 
his s:or.2:e rose at the narrowness of his destiny. 



234 TALES OF A TRAVELLEU. 

" Unlucky Wolf ert !" exclaimed he, "others can go to bed 
and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth ; they have 
but to seize a spade in the morning, and turn up doubloons 
like potatoes; but thou must dream of hardship, and rise to 
poverty — must dig thy field from year's end to year's end, 
and — and yet raise nothing but cabbages !" 

Wolf ert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart ; and it was 
long before the golden visions that disturbed his brain, per- 
mitted liim to sink into repose. The same visions, however, 
extended into his sleeping thoughts, and assumed a more defi- 
nite form. He ^dreamt that he had discovered an immense 
treasure in the centre of his garden. At every stroke of the 
spade he laid bare a golden ingot ; diamond crosses sparkled 
out of the dust ; bags of money turned up their bellies, corpu- 
lent with pieces of eight, or venerable doubloons ; and chests, 
wedged close with moidores, ducats, and pistareens, yawned 
before his ravished eyes, and vomited forth their glittering 
contents. 

Wolferteawoke a poorer man than ever. He had no heart to 
go about his daily concerns, which appeared so paltry and 
profitless ; but sat all day long in the chimney-corner, pictur- 
ing to himself ingots and heaps of gold in the fire. The next 
night his dream was repeated. He was again in his garden, 
digging, and laying open stores of hidden wealth. There was 
something very singular in this repetition. He passed another 
day of reverie, and though it was cleaning-day, and the house, 
as usual im Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he 
sat unmoved amidst the general uproar. 

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating heart. He 
put on his red nightcap, wrong side outwards for good luck. 
It was deep midnight before his anxious mind could settle itself 
into sleep. Again the golden dream was repeated, and again 
he saw his garden teeming with ingots and money-bags. 

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilderment. 
A dream three times repeated was never known to lie ; and if 
so, his fortune was made. 

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind part 
before, and this was a corroboration of good luck. He no 
longer doubted thai a huge store of money lay buried some- 
where in his cabbage-field, coyly waiting to be sought for, and 
he half repined at havings so long been scratching about the 
surface of the soil, instead of digging to the centre. 

He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of these specula- 



OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 235 

tions ; asked his daughter to put a lump of gold into his tea, 
and on handing his wife a plate of slap-jacks, begging her to 
help herself to a doubloon. 

His grand care now was how to secure this immense treasure 
without it being known. Instead of working regularly in his 
grounds in the day-time, he now stole from his bed at night, 
and with spade and pickaxe, went to work to rip up and dig 
about his paternal acres, from one end to the other. In a httle 
time the whole garden, which had presented such a goodly and 
regular appearance, vv^ith its phalanx of cabbages, hke a vege- 
table army in battle array, was reduced to a scene of 
devastation, while the relentless Wolfert, with nightcap on 
head, and lantern and spade in hand, stalked through the 
slaughtered ranks, the destroying angel of his own vegetable 
world. 

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the preced- 
ing night in cabbages of all ages and conditions, from the ten- 
der sprout to the full-grown head, piteously rooted from their 
quiet beds like wortliless weeds, and left to wither in the sun- 
shine. It was in vain Wolf ert's wife remonstrated ; it was in 
vai^ his darling daughter wept over the destruction of some 
favorite marygold. "Thou shalt have gold of another guess- 
sort," he would cry, chucking her under the chin; "thou 
shalt have a string of crooked ducats for thy wedding-necklace, 
my child." His family began really to fear that the poor 
man's wits were diseased. He muttered in his sleep at night 
of mines of v/ealth, of pearls and diamonds and bars of gold. 
In the day-time he was moody and abstracted, and Avalked about 
as if In a trance. Dame Yfebber held frequent councils with 
all the old Avomeii of the neighborhood, not omitting the parish 
dominie ; scarce an hour in the day but a knot of them might 
be seen wagging their white caps together round her door, 
while the poor woman made some piteous recital. The daugh- 
ter, too, v/as fain to seek for more frequent consolation from 
the stolen interviews of her favored swain, Dirk Waldron. 
The delectable little Dutch songs with which she used to dulcify 
the house grew less and less frequent, and she would forget her 
sewing and look wistfully in her father's face as he sat pon- 
dering by the fireside. Wolfert caught -her eye one day fixed 
on him thus anxiously, and for a moment was roused from his 
golden reveries — "Cheer up, my girl," said he, exultingly, 
"why dost thou droop?— thou shalt hold up thy head one day 
with the and the Scliemerhorns, the Van Plornes, and th-s 



236 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Van^Dams — the patroon himself shall be glad to get thee* for 
his son I" 

Amy shook her head at this vain-glorious boast, and was 
more than ever in doubt of the soundness of the good man's 
intellect. 

In the meantime Wolf ert went on digging, but the field was 
extensive, and as his dream had indicated no precise spot, he 
had to dig at random. The winter set in before one-tenth of 
the scene of promise had been explored. The ground became 
too frozen and the nights too cold for the labors of the spade. 
No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of spring loosen 
the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe in the meadows, but 
Wolfert resumed his labors with renovated zeal. Still, how- 
ever, the hours of industry were reversed. Instead of working 
cheerily all day, planting and setting out his vegetables, he re- 
mained thoughtfully idle, until the shades of night summoned 
him to his secret labors. In this way he continued to dig from 
night to night, and week to week, and month to month, but 
not a stiver did he find. On the contrary, the more he digged 
the poorer he grew. The rich soil of his garden v/as digged 
away, and the sand and gravel from beneath were thrown *to 
the surface, until the whole field presented an aspect of sandy 
barrenness. 

In the meantime the seasons gradually rolled on. The little 
frogs that had piped in the meadows in early spring, croaked 
as bull-frogs in the brooks during the summer heats, and then 
sunk into silence. The peach tree budded, blossomed, and bore 
its fruit. The swaUows and martins came, twittered a,bout the 
roof, built their nests, reared their young, held their congress 
along the eaves, and then winged their flight in search of 
another spring. The caterpillar spun its winding-sheet, dangled 
in it from the great buttonwood tree that shaded the house, 
turned into a moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of sunnncr, 
and disappeared ; and finaUy the leaves of the buttonwood tree 
turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by one to the 
ground, and whirling about in Httle eddies of wind and dust, 
whispered that winter was at hand. 

Wolfert gradually avfoke from his dream of wealth as the 
year declined. He had feared no crop to supply the wants of 
his household during the sterility of winter. The season was 
long and severe, and for the first time the family was really 
straightened in its comforts. By degrees a revulsion of thought 
took place in Wolfert's inind, common to those whose golden 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 237 

dreams have been disturbed by pinching realities. The idea 
gradually stole upon him that he should come to want. He 
already considered himself one of the most unfortunate men in 
the provmce, having lost such an incalculable amount of undis- 
covered treasure, and now, when thousands of pounds had 
eluded his search, to be perplexed for shillings and pence was 
cruel in the extreme. 

Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he wenjb about with 
a money-seeking air, his eyes bent downwards into the dust, 
and carrying his hands in his pockets, as men are apt to do 
when they have nothing else to put into them. He could not 
even pass the city almshouse without giving it a rueful glance, 
as if destined to be his future abode. 

The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks occasioned 
much speculation and remark. For a long time he was sus- 
pected of being crazy, and then every body pitied him; at 
length it began to be suspected that he was poor, and then 
every body avoided him. 

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him outside of 
the door when he called, entertained him hospitably on the 
threshold, pressed him warmly by the hand -on parting, shook 
their heads as he walked away, with the kind-hearted expres- 
sion of "poor Wolfert," and turned a corner nimbly, if by 
chance they saw him approaching as they walked the streets. 
Even the barber and cobbler of the neighborhood, and a tat- 
tered tailor in an alley hard by, three of the poorest and mer- 
riest rog-ues in the world, eyed him with that abundant sym- 
pathy wliich usually attends a lack of means, and there is not 
a doubt but their pockets would have been at his command, 
only that they happened to be empty. 

Thus every body deserted the Webber mansion, as if poverty 
were contagious, like the plague ; every body but honest Dirk 
Waldron, who still kept up his stolen visits to the daughter, 
and indeed seemed to wax more affectionate as the fortunes of 
his mistress were on the wane. 

Many months h^d elapsed since Wolfert had frequented his 
old resort, the rural inn. He was taking a long lonely walk 
one Saturday afternoon, musing over his wants and disappoint- 
ments, when his feet took instinctively their wonted direction, 
and on awaking out of a reverie, he found himself before the 
door of the inn. For some moments he hesitated whether to 
enter, but his heart yearned for companionship ; and where can 
a ruined man find better companionship than at a tavern, 



238 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

where there is neither sober example nor sober advice to put 
him out of countenance? 

Woh^ert found several of the old frequenters of the tavern at 
their usual posts, and seated in their usual places ; but one was 
missing, the great Eamm Eapelye, who for many years had 
filled the chair of state. His place was supplied by a stranger, 
who seemed, however, completely at home in the chair and the 
tavern. He was rather under-size, but deep-chested, square, 
and mmscular. His broad shoulders, double joints, and bow- 
knees, gave tokens of prodigious strength. His face was dark 
and weather-beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the slash of a cut- 
lass, had almost divided his nose, and made a gash in his upper 
lip, through which his teeth shone like a bull-dog's. A mass 
of iron gray hair gave a grizzly finish to his hard-favored vis- 
sage. His dress was of an amphibious character. He wore an 
old hat edged with tarnished lace, and cocked in martial style, 
on one side of his head ; a rusty blue military coat with brass 
buttons, and a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, or rather 
breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. He ordered 
every body about him with an authoritative air ; talked in a 
brattling voice, that sounded like the crackling of thorns under 
a pot ; damned the landlord and servants with perfect impu- 
nity, and was waited upon with greater obsequiousness than 
had ever been shown to the mighty Ramm himself. 

Wolfert's curiosity v/as awakened to know who and what 
was this stranger who had thus usurped absolute sway in this 
ancient domain. He could get nothing, however, but vague 
information. Peechy Prauw took him aside, into a remote 
corner of the hall, and there in an under-voice, and with grea^t 
caution, imparted to him all that he knew on the subject. The 
inn had been aroused several months before, on a dark stormy 
night, by repeated long shouts, that seemed hke the bowlings 
of a wolf. They came from the water-side ; and at length were 
distinguished to be hailing the house in the seafaring manner. 
" House-a-hoy !" The landlord turned out with his head- 
waiter, tapster, hostler, and errand boy— that is to say, with 
his old negro Cuff. On approaching the place from whence the 
voice proceeded, they found this amphibious-looking personage 
at the water's edge, quite alone, and seated on a great oaken 
sea-chest. How he came there, whether he had been set on 
shore from some boat, or had floated to land on his chest, 
nobody could tell, for he did not seem disposed to answer 
questions, and there was something in his looks and manners 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 239 

that put a stop to all questioning. Suffice it to say, lie took 
possession of a corner room of the inn, to which his chest was 
removed with great difficulty. Here he had remained ever 
since, keeping about the inn and its vicinity. Sometimes, it 
is true, he disappeared for one, two, or three days at a time, 
going and returning without giving any notice or account of 
his movements. He always appeared to have plenty of money, 
though often of very strange, outlandish coinage ; and he regu- 
larly paid his bill every evening before turning in. 

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having slung a 
hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and decorated the 
Avails with rusty pistols and cutlasses of foreign workmanship. 
A great part of his time was passed in this room, seated by the 
window, which commanded a wide view of the Sound, a short 
old-fashioned pipe in his mouth, a glass of rum toddy at his 
elbow, and a pocket telescope in his hand, with which he recon- 
noitred every boat that moved upon the water. Large square- 
rigged vessels seemed to excite but little attention ; but the 
moment he descried any thing with a shoulder-of -mutton sail, 
or that a barge, or yawl, or jolly boat hove in sight, up went 
the telescope, and he examined it with the most scrupulous 
attention. 

All this might have passed without much notice, for in those 
times the province was so much the -resort of adventurers of all 
characters and chmes that any oddity in dress or behavior 
attracted but httle attention. But in a little while this strange 
sea monster, thus strangely cast up on dry land, began to 
encroach upon the long-established customs and customers of 
the place ; to interfere in a dictatorial manner in the affairs of 
the ninepin alley and the bar-room, until in the end he usurped 
an absolute command over the little inn. In v/as in vain to 
attempt to withstand his authority. He was not exactly quar- 
relsome, but boisterous and peremptory, like one accustomed 
to tyrannize on a quarter deck ; and there was a dare-devil air 
about every thing he s?ad and did, that inspired a wariness in 
all bystanders. Even the half -pay officer, so long the hero of 
the club, was soon silenced by him ; and the quiet burghers 
stared with wonder at seeing their inflammable man of war so 
readily and quietly extinguished. 

And then the tales that he would tell were enough to make a 
peaceable man's hair stand on end. There was not a sea fight, 
or marauding or free-booting adventure that had happened 
within the last twenty years but he seemed perfectly versed in 



240 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

it. He delighted to talk of the exploits of the buccaneers in 
the West-Indies and on the Spanish Main. How his eyes would 
glisten as he described the waylaying of treasure shij^s, the 
desperate fights, yard arm and yard arm — ^broadside and broad- 
side^the boarding and capturing of large Spanish galleons! 
with what chuckling relish would he describe the descent upon 
gome rich Spanish colony ; the rifling of a church ; the sacking 
of a convent ! You would have thought you heard some gor- 
mandizer dilating upon the roasting a savory goose at Michael- 
mas as he described the roasting of some Spanish Don to make 
him discover liis treasure— a detail given with a minuteness 
that made every rich old burgher present turn uncomfortably 
in his chair. All this would be told with infinite glee, as if he 
considered it an excellent joke ; and then he would give such a 
tyrannical leer in the face of his next neighbor, that the poor 
man would be fain to laugh out of sheer faint-heartedness. If 
any one, however, pretended to contradict him in any of his 
stories he was on fire in an instant. His very cocked hat 
assumed a momentary fierceness, and seemed to resent the con- 
tradiction.—" How the devil should you know as well as I ! I 
tell you it was as I say !" and he would at the same time let slip 
a broadside of thundering oaths and tremendous sea phrases, 
such as had never been heard before within those peaceful 
walls. 

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he knew 
more of these stories thnn mere hearsay. Day after day their 
conjectures concerning him grew more and more wild and 
fearful. The strangeness of his manners, the mystery that 
surrounded hun, all made him something incomprehensible in 
their eyes. He was a kind of monster of the deep to them— he 
was a merman— he was behemoth— he Avas leviathan— in short, 
they knew not what he was. 

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea urchin at length 
grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter of persons; he 
contradicted the richest burghers without hesitation ; he took 
possession of the sacred elbow chair, vfhich time out of mind 
had been the seat of sovereignty of the illustrious Eanmi 
Eapelye. Nay, he even went so far in one of his rough jocula.r 
moods, as to slap that mighty burgher on the back, drink his 
toddy and wink in his face, a thing scarcely to be believed. 
From this time Eamm Eapelye appeared no more at the inn; 
his example was followed by several of the most eminent cus- 
tomers, who were too rich to tolerate being bullied out of their 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN DREAMS. 241 

opinions, or being obliged to laugb at another man's jokes. 
The landlord was almost in despair, but he knew not how to 
get rid of this sea monster and his sea-chest, which seemed to 
have grown like fixtures, or excrescences on his establish- 
ment. 

Such was the account whispered cautiously in WoKert's ear, 
by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by the button 
in a corner of the hall, casting a wary glance now and then 
towards the door of the bar-room, lest he should be overheard 
by the terrible hero of his tale. 

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in silence ; 
impressed with profound awe of this unknown, so versed in 
freebooting history. It was to him a wonderful instance of the 
revolutions of mighty empires, to find the venerable Ramm 
Rapeiye thus ousted from the throne ; a rugged tarpaulin dic- 
tating from his elbow chair, hectoring the patriarchs, and filling 
this tranquil Httle realm with brawl and bravado. 

The stranger was on this evening in a more than usually com- 
municative mood, and was narrating a number of astounding 
stories of piunderings and burnings upon the high seas. He 
dwelt upon them with peculiar relish, heightening the frightful 
particulars in proportion to their effect on his peaceful auditors. 
He gave a long swaggering detail of the capture of a Spanish 
merchantman. She was laying becalmed during a long sum- 
mer's day, just off from an island which was one of the lurking 
places of the pirates. They had reconnoitred her with their 
spy-glasses from the shore, and ascertained her character and 
force. At night a picked crew of daring fellows set off for her 
in a whale boat. They approached with muffled oars, as she 
lay rocking idly with the undulatioxis of the sea and her sails 
flapping agai,nst the masts. They were close under her stem 
before the guard on deck was aware of their approach. The 
alarm was given ; the pirates threw hand grenades on deck and 
sprang up the main chains sword in hand. 

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion some were 
shot down, others took refuge in the tops ; others were driven 
overboard and drowned, while others fought hand to hand 
from the main deck to the quarter deck, disputing gallantly 
every inch of ground. There were three Spanish gentlemen on 
board with their ladies, who made the most desperate resis- 
tance ; they defended the companion-way, cut down several of 
their assailants, and fought like very devils, for they were 
maddened by the shrieks of the ladies from the cabin. One of 



242 TALES OF A TRAVELLER 

the Dons was old and soon despatched. The other two kept 
their ground vigorously, even though the cajDtain of the pirates 
was among their assailants. Just then there was a shout of 
victory from the main deck. "The sliip is ours!" cried the 
pirates. 

One of the Dons immediately dropped his sword and sur- 
rendered; the other, who was a hot-headed youngster, and 
just married, gave the captain a slash in the face that laid all 
open. The captain just made out to articulate the words " no 
quarter." 

"And what did they do with their prisoners ?" said Peechy 
Prauw, eagerly. 

" Threw them all overboard !" said the merman. 

A dead pause followed this reply. Peechy Prauw shrunk 
quietly back like a man who had unwarily stolen upon the lair of 
a sleeping lion. The honest burghers cast fearful glances at the 
deep scar slashed across the visage of the stranger, and moved 
their chairs a little farther off. The seaman, however, smoked 
on without moving a muscle, as though he either did not per- 
ceive or did not regard the unfavorable effect he had produced 
upon his hearers. 

The half -pay officer was the first to break the silence ; for he 
was continually tempted to make ineffectual head against this 
tyrant of the seas, and to regain his lost consequence in the 
eyes of his ancient companions. He now tried to match the 
gunpowder tales of the stranger by others equally tremendous. 
Kidd, as usual, was his hero, concerning whom he had picked 
up many of the floating traditions of the province. The sea- 
man had always evinced a settled pique against the red-faced 
warrior. On this occasion he listened with peculiar impatience. 
He sat with one arm a-kimbo, the other elbow on a table, the 
hand holding on to the small pipe he was pettishly puffing ; his 
legs crossed, drumming with one foot on the ground and cast- 
ing every now and then the side glance of a basilisk at the 
prosing captain. At length the latter spoke of Eadd's having 
ascended the Hudson with some of his crew, to land his plun- 
der in secrecy. 

" Kidd up the Hudson!" burst forth the seaman, with a tre- 
mendous oath; " Kidd never was up the Hudson!" 

"I tell you he was," said the other. " Aye, and they say he 
buried a quantity of treasure on the little flat that runs out 
into the river, called the Devil's Dans Eammer." 

"The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth!" cried the sea- 



WOLFERT WEBBER; OR, GOLDEN UREAM8. 243 

man. " I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson— what .the 
plague do you know of Kidd and his haunts ?" 

"What do I know?" echoed the half-pay officer ; "why, I 
was in London at the time of his trial, aye, and I had the 
pleasure of seeing him hanged at Execution Dock." 

" Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a fellow 
hanged as ever trod shoe leather. Aye!" putting his face 
nearer to that of the officer, " and there was many a coward 
looked on, that might much better have swung in his stead." 

The half -pay officer was silenced ; but the indignation thus 
pent up in his bosom glowed with intense vehemence in his 
single eye, which kindled like a coal. 

Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, now took up 
the word, and in a pacifying tone observed that the gentleman 
certainly was in the right. Kidd never did bury money up 
the Hudson, nor indeed in any of those parts, though many 
affirm the fact. It was Bradish and others of the buccaneers 
who had buried money, some said in Turtle Bay, others on 
Long-Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell Gate. Indeed, 
added he, I recollect an adventure of Mud Sam, the negro 
fisherman, many years ago, which some think had something 
^o do with the buccaneers. As we are all friends here, and as 
it will go no farther, I'll tell it to you. 

" Upon a dark night many years ago, as Sam was returmng 
from fishing in Hell Gate—" 

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden movement 
from the unknown, who, laying his iron fist on the table, 
knuckles downward, with a quiet force that indented the very 
boards, and looking grimly over his shoulder, with the grin of 
an angry bear. " Heark'ee, neighbor," said he, Avith signifi- 
cant nodding of the head, " you'd better let the buccaneers and 
their money alone— they're not for old men and old women to 
meddle with. They fought hard for their money, they gave 
body and soul for it, and wherever it hes buried, depend upon 
it he must have a tug with the devil who gets it." 

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence 
throughout the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk witliin himself, 
and even the red-faced officer turned pale. Wolfert, who, from 
a dark corner of the room, had hstened with intense eagerness 
to aU this talk about buried treasure, looked with mingled awe 
and reverence on this bold buccaneer, for such he really sus- 
pected him to be. There was a chinking of gold and a spark- 
hug of jewels in all his stories about the Spanish Main that 



244 '.^ALEB OF A TRAVELLEK 

gave a value to every period, and Wolfert would have given 
any thing for the rummaging of the ponderous sea-chest, which 
his imagination crammed full of golden chahces and crucifixes 
and jolly round bags of doubloons. 

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company was at 
length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out a prodigious 
watch of curious and ancient workmanship, and which in Vv'ol- 
f rets' eyes had a decidedly Spanish look. On touching a spring 
it struck ten o'clock; upon which the sailor called for his 
reckoning, and having paid it out of a handful of outlandish 
coin, he drank off the remainder of his beverage, and without 
taking leave of any one, rolled out of the room, muttering to 
himself as he stamped up-stairs to his chamber. 

It was some time before the company could recover from the 
silence into which they had been thrown. The very footsteps 
of the stranger, which were heard now and then as he trav- 
ersed his chamber, inspired awe. 

Still the conversation in which they had been engaged was 
too interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder-gust had 
gathered up unnoticed while they were lost in talk, and the 
torrents of rain that fell forbade all thoughts of setting off for 
home until the storm should subside. They drew nearer 
together, therefore, and entreated the worthy Peechy Prauw 
to continue the tale which had been so discourteously inter- 
rupted. He readily complied, whispering, hov/ever, in a tone 
scarcely above his breath, and drowned occasionally by the 
rolling of the thunder, and he would pause every now and 
then, and listen with evident awe, as he heard the heavy foot- 
steps of the stranger pacing overhead. 

The following is the purport of his story. 



THE ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 

COMMONLY DENOMINATED MUD SAM. 

Every body knows Mud Sam, the old negro fisherman who 
has fished about the Sound for the last twenty or thirty years. 
Well, it is now many years since that Sam, who was then a 
young fellow, and worked on the farm of Killian Suydam on 
Long Island, having finished his v/ork early, was fishing, one 



ADVEJSTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FlSUEllMAN. 245 

still summer evening, just about the neighborhood of Hell 
Gate. He was in a light skiff, and being av ell acquainted with 
the currents and eddies, he had been able to shift his station 
with the shifting of the tide, from the Hen and Chickens to the 
Hog's back, and from the Hog's back to the Pot, and from the 
Pot to the Frying-pan ; but in the eagerness of his sport Sam 
did not see that the tide was rapidly ebbing ; until the roaring 
of the whirlpools and rapids warned hun of his danger, and he 
had some difficulty in shooting his skiii from among the rocks 
and breakers, and getting to the point of BlackweU's Island. 
Here he cast anchor for some time, waiting the turn of the tide 
to enable him to return homewards. As the night set in it 
grew blustering and gusty. Dark clouds came bundling up in 
the west ; and now and then a growl of thunder or a flash of 
hghtning told that a summer storm was at hand. Sam pulled 
over, therefore, under the lee of Manhattan Island, and coast- 
ing along came to a snug nook, just under a steep beethng 
rock, where he fastened his skiff to the root of a tree that shot 
out from a cleft and spread its broad branches hke a canopy 
over the water. The gust came scouring along; the wind 
threw up the river in white surges ; the rain rattled among the 
leaves, the thimder bellowed worse than that which is now 
bellowing, the lightning seemed to lick up the surges of the 
stream; but Sa.m, snugly sheltered under rock and tree, lay 
crouched in his skiff, rocking upon the billows, until he fell 
asleep. When he awoke all Avas quiet. The gxist had passed 
away, and only now and then a faint gleam of lightning in the 
east showed which way it had gone. The night was dark and 
moonless ; and from the state of the tide Sam concluded it was 
near midnight. He was on the point of making loose his skiff 
to return homewards, when he saw a Hght gleaming along the 
water from a distance, which seemed rapidly approaching. 
As it drew near he perceived that it came from a lanthorn in 
the bow of a boat which was gliding along under shadow of the 
land. It pulled up in a small cove, close to where he was. A 
man jumped on shore, and searchmg about Avith the lanthorn 
exclaimed, "This is the place— here's the Iron ring." The 
boat was then made fast, and the man returning on board, 
assisted his comrades in conveying something heavy on 
shore. As the h'ght gleamed among them, Sam saw that they 
were five stout, despera^te-looking fallows, in red woollen caps, 
Avith a leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of them 
vrero anncd with dirks, or long knives, and pistols. They 



246 ■ TALES OF A TIIAVELLER. 

talked low to one another, and occasionally in some outlandish 
tongue which he could not understand. 

On landing they made their way among the bushes, taking 
turns to reheve each other in lugging their burthen up the 
rocky bank. Sam's curiosity was now fully aroused, so leav- 
ing his skiff he clambered silently up the ridge that overlooked 
their path. They had stopped to rest for a moment, and the 
leader Y/as looking about among the bushes with his lanthorn. 
" Have you brought the spades?" said one. " They are here," 
replied another, who had them on his shoulder. ' ' We must dig 
deep, where there wiU be no risk of discovery," said a third. 

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he saw 
before liim a gang of murderers, about to bury their victim. 
His knees smote together. In his agitation he shook the 
branch of a tree with which he was supporting himself as he 
looked over the edge of the cliff. 

"What's that?" cried one of the gang. "Some one stirs 
among the bushes !" 

The laiithorn was held up in the direction of the noise. One 
of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it towards the very 
place where Sam was standing. He stood motionless — 
breathless ; expecting the next moment to be liis last. Fortu- 
nately, his dingy complexion was in his favor, and made no 
glare among the leaves. 

" 'Tis no one," said the man with the lanthorn. " What a 
plague! you would not fire off your pistol and alarm the 
country." • 

The pistol was uncocked ; the burthen was resumed, and the 
party slowly toiled up the bank. Sam watched them as they 
went ; the light sending back fitful gleams through the drip- 
ping bushes, and it was not till they were fairly out of sight 
that he ventured to draw breath freely. He now thought of 
getting back to his boat, and making his escape out of the 
reach of such dangerous neighbors ; but curiosity was all-pow- 
erful with poor Sam. He hesitated and hngered and listened. 
By and bye he heard the strokes of spades. 

" They are digging the grave!" said he to himself; the cold 
sweat started upon his forehead. Every stroke of a spade, as 
it sounded through the silent groves, went to his heart ; it was 
evident there was as little noise made as possible ; every thing 
had an air of mystery and secrecy. Sam had a great relish for 
the horrible— a tale of murder was a treat for him ; and he was 
a constant attendant at executions. He cotdd not, therefore, 



ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 247 

resist an impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal nearer, and 
overlook the villains at their work. He crawled along cau- 
tiously, therefore, inch by inch ; stepping with the utmost care 
among the dry leaves, lest their rustling should betray liim. He 
came at length to where a steep rock intervened between him 
and the gang; he saw the light of their lanthorn shining up 
against the branches of the trees on the other side. Sam 
slowly and silently clambered up the surface of the rock, and 
raising his head abqye its naked edge, belield the villains 
immediately below him, and so near that though he dreaded 
discovery, he dared not withdraw lest the least movement 
should be heard. In this way he remained, with his round 
black face peering over the edge of the rock, like the sun 
just emerging above the edge of the horizon, or the round- 
cheeked moon on the dial of a clock. 

The red-caps had nearly finished their work ; the grave was 
filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf. This 
done, they scattered dry leaves over the place. " And now," 
said the leader, " I defy the devil himself to find it out." 

' ' The murderers !" exclauned Sam involuntarily. 

The whole gang started, and looking up, beheld the round 
black head of Sam just above them. His white eyes strained 
liaK out of their orbits ; his white teeth chattering, and his 
whole visage shining with cold perspiration. 

"We're discovered!" cried one. 

" Down with him!" cried another. 

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause for 
the report. He scrambled over rock and stone, through bush 
and briar ; rolled down banks hke a hedgehog ; scrambled up 
others like a catamount. In every direction he heard some one 
or other of the gang hemming him in. At length he reached 
the rocky ridge along the river ; one of the red-caps was hard 
behind him. A steep rock hke a wall rose directly in his way ; 
it seemed to cut off aU retreat, when he espied the strong cord- 
like branch of a grape-vine reacliing haK way down it. He 
sprang a.t it with the force of a desperate man, seized it with 
both hands, and bemg young and agile, succeeded in swinging 
himself to the summit of the chff. Here he stood in fuU rehef 
against the sky, when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. 
The ball whistled by Sam's head. With the lucky thought of 
a man in an emergency, he uttered a yell, fell to the ground, 
and detached at the same time a fragment of the rock, which 
tumbled with a loud splash into the river. 



248 TALES OF A TEA TELLEn. 

"I've done his business," said the red-cap, to one or two of 
his comrades as they arrived panting. ' ' He'll tell no tales, 
except to the fishes in the river. " 

His pursuers now turned off to meet their companions. Sam 
sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let himself quietly 
into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and abandoned himself 
to the rapid current, which in that place runs like a mill-stream, 
and soon swept hun off from the neighborhood. It was not, 
however, until he had drifted a great distance that he ventured 
to ply his oars ; when he made his skiff dart like an arrow 
through the strait of Hell Gate, never heeding the danger of 
Pot, Frying-pan, or Hog's-back itself ; nor did he feel himself 
thoroughly secure until safely nestled in bed in the cockloft of 
the ancient farm-house of the Suydams. 

Here the worthy Peechy paused to take breath and to take a 
sip of the gossip tankard that stood at his elbow. His auditors 
remained with open mouths and outstretched necks, gaping 
like a nest of swa^llows for an additional mouthful. 

" And is that all?" exclaimed the half-pay officer. 

" That's all that belongs to the story," said Peechy Prauw. 

" And did Bam never find out what was buried by the red- 
caps?" said Wolfert, eagerly; whose mind was haunted by 
nothing but ingots and doubloons. 

' ' Not that I know of ; he had no time to spare from his work ; 
and to tell the truth, he did not like to run the risk of another 
race among the rocks. Besides, how should he recollect the 
spot where the grave had been digged? every thing would look 
different by daylight. And then, where was the use of looking 
for a dead body, when there was no chance of hanging the 
murderers?" 

" Aye, but are you sure it Avasadead body they buried?" said 
Wolfert. 

" To be sure, " cried Peechy Prauw, exultingly. ' ' Does it not 
haunt in the neighborhood to this very day?" 

" Haunts !" exclaimed several of the party, opening their eyes 
stiU wider and edging their chairs still closer. 

" Aye, haunts," repeated Peechy ; "has none of you heard of 
father red-cap that haunts the old burnt farm-house in the 
woods, on the border of the Sound, near Hell Gate?" 

" Oh, to be sure, I've heard tell of something of the kind, but 
then I took it for some old wives' fable. " 

" Old wives' fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, "that farm- 
house stands hard by the very si3ot. It's been unoccupied time 



ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 249 

out of mind, and stands in a mid, lonely part of the coast; but 
those who fish in the neighborhood have often heard strange 
noises there ; and hghts have been seen about the wood at night ; 
and ar old fellow in a lad cap has been seen at the mndows 
more than once, which people take to be the ghost of the body 
that was buried there. Once upon a tune three soldiers took 
shelter in the buHding for the night, and rummaged it from top 
to bottom when they found old father red-cap astride of a cider- 
barrel in the cellar, with a jug in one hand and a goblet m the 
other He offered them a drink out of his goblet, but just as 
one of the soldiers was putting it to his mouth-Whew ! a flash 
of fi^-e blazed through the ceUar, bhnded every mother's son 
of them for several minutes, and when they recovered their 
eye-sight, jug, goblet, and red-cap had vanished, and nothing 
but the empty cider-barrel remained." 

Here the half-Day officer, who was growing very muzzy and 
sleepy, and nodding over hishquor, with haK-extinguished eye, 
suddenly gleamed up like an expiring ruslilight. ^ , . , ^ 

"That's aU humbug!" said he, as Peechy fimshed his last 

storv 

" Well I don't vouch for the truth of it myself," said Peechy 
Prauw, ''thou&b all the wDrld knows that there's something 
strange about the house and grounds; but as to the story of 
Mud Sam, I believe it just as w^ell as if it had happened to 
myself." . 

The deep interest taken in this conversation by the company, 
had made them unconscious of the uproar that prevailed abroad 
among the elements, when suddenly they were all electrified 
by a tremendous clap of thunder. A lumbering crash followed 
instantaneously that made the building shake to its foundation. 
All started from their seats, imagining it the shock of an earth- 
quake, or that old father red-cap was coming among them in 
all his terrors. They listened for a moment, but only heard the 
rain pelting against the windows, and the wmd howhng among 
the trees The explosion was soon explained by the apparition 
of an old negro's bald head thrust in at the door, his white 
goggle eyes contrasting with his jetty poU, which was wet with 
rain and shone like a bottle. In a jargon but half inte hgible 
he announced that the kitchen chimney had been struck with 
lightning. , ^ . 

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sunk in 
g^asts, produced a momentary stillness. In this interval^ the 
report of a musket was heard, and a long shout, almost like ^ 



250 TALES OF A TRAVELLER, 

yell, resounded from the sliore. Every one crowded to the 
window; another musket shot was heard, and another long 
shout, that mingled wildly with a rising blast of wind. It 
seemed as if the cry came up from the bosom of the waters ; for 
though incessant flashes of lightning spread a light about tho 
shore, no one was to be seen. 

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened, and 
a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger. Several hail' 
ings passed from one party to the other, but in a language 
which none of the company in the bar-room could understand ; 
and presently they heard the window closed, and a great noise 
overhead as if all the furniture were pulled and hauled about 
the room. The negro servant was summoned, and shortly after 
was seen assisting the veteran to lug the ponderous sea-chest 
down stairs. 

The landlord v/as in amazement. " What, you are not going 
on the water in such a storm?" 

"Storm!" said the other, scornfully, "do you call such a 
sputter of weather a storm?" . 

" You'll get drenched to the skin — You'll catch your death!" 
said Peechy Prauw, affectionately. 

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the nferman, "don't 
preach about weather to a man that has cruised in whirlwinds 
and tornadoes." 

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The voice 
from the water was again heard in a tone of impatience ; the 
bystanders stared with redoubled awe at this man of storms, 
which seemed to have come up out of the deep and to be called 
back to it again. As, with the assistance of the negro, he slowly 
bore his ponderous sea-chest towards the shore, they eyed it 
with a superstitious f eehng ; half doubting whether he were not 
really about to embark upon it, and launch forth upon the wild 
waves. They followed him at a distance with a lanthorn. 

" Douse the light!" roared the hoarse voice from the water. 
" No one wants Hght here !" 

" Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed the veteran; "back to 
the house with you !" 

Wolfert and his companions shrunk back is dismay. Still 
their curiosity would not allow them entirely to withdraw. A 
long sheet of ligntning now flickered across the waves, and 
discovered a boat, filled with men, just under a rocky point, 
rising and sinking with the hcavj^ surges, and swashing the 
water at every heave. It was v/ith diiiicultj held to the rocks 



ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 251 

by a boat hook, for the current rushed furiously round the 
point. The veteran hoisted one end of the lumbering sea-chest 
on the gunwale of the boat ; he seized the handle at the other 
end to lift it in, when the motion propelled the boat from the 
shore; the chest slipped off from the gunwale, sunk into the 
waves, and pulled the veteran headlong after it. A loud shriek 
was uttered by all on shore, and a volley of execrations by 
those on board ; but boat and man were hurried away by the 
rushing swiftness of the tide. A pitchy darkness succeeded ; 
Wolfert Webber indeed fancied that he distinguished a cry for 
help, and that he beheld the drowning man beckoning for 
assistance; but when the lightning again gleamed along the 
water all was drear and void. Neither man nor boat was to be 
seen ; nothing but the dashing and weltering of the waves as 
they hurried past. 

The company returned to the tavern, for they could not 
leave it before the storm should subside. They resumed their 
seats and gazed on each other with dismay. The v/hole transac- 
tion had not occupied five minutes and not a dozen words had 
been spoken. When they looked at the oaken chair they 
could scarcely reahze the fact that the strange being who had 
so lately tenanted it, full of hfe and Herculean vigor, should 
already be a corpse. There was the very glass he had just 
drunk from ; there lay the ashes from the pipe which he had 
smoked as it were with his last breath. As the worthy bur- 
ghers pondered on these things, tliey felt a terrible conviction 
of the uncertainty of human existence, and each felt as if the 
ground on which he stood was rendered less stable by this awful 
example. 

As, however, the most of the company were possessed of that 
valuable philosophy which enables a man to bear up with for- 
titude against the misfortunes of his neighbors, they soon 
managed to console themselves for the tragic end of the veteran. 
The landlord was happy that the poor dear man had paid his 
reckoning before he went. 

" He came in a storm, and he v/ent in a storm; he came in 
the night, and he went in the night ; he came nobody knows 
from whence, and he has gone nobody knows where. For 
aught I know he has gone to sea once more on his chest and 
may land to bother some people on the other side of the world ! 
Though it's a thousand pities," added the landlord, "if he has 
gone to Davy Jones that he had not left his sea-chest behind 
him." 



252 TALES OF A THA VELLER 

"The sea-chest! St. Nicholas preserve us!" said Peechy 
Prauw. ' ' I'd not have had that sea-chest in the house for any 
money ; I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it at nights, and 
making a haunted house of the inn. And as to his going to sea 
on his chest, I recoUect what happened to Skipper Onderdonk's 
ship on his voyage from Amsterdam. 

"The boatswain died during a storm, so they wrapped him 
up in a sheet, and put him in his own sea-chest, and threw him 
overboard; but they neglected in their hurry-skurry to say 
prayers over him — and the storm raged and roared louder than 
ever, and they saw the dead man seated in his chest, with his 
shroud for a sail, coming hard after the ship; and the sea 
breaking before him in great sprays like fire, and there they 
kept scudding day after day arid night after night, expecting 
every moment to go to wreck ; and every night they saw the 
dead boatswain in his sea-chest trying to get up with them, 
and they heard his whistle above the blasts of wind, and he 
seemed to send great seas mountain high after them, that 
would have swamped the ship if they had not put up the dead 
Mghts. And so it went on till they lost sight of him in the fogs 
of Newfoundland, and supposed he had veered ship and stood 
for Dead Man's Isle. So much for burying a man at sea with- 
out saying prayers over him." 

The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained the company 
was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the hall struck mid- 
night ; every one pressed to depart, for seldom was such a late 
hour trespassed on by these quiet burghers. As they sallied 
forth they found the heavens once more serene. The storm 
which had lately obscured them had rolled away, and lay piled 
up in fleecy masses on the horizon, lighted up by the bright 
crescent of the moon, which looked like a silver lamp hung up 
in a palace of clouds. 

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal narra- 
tions they had made, had left a superstitions feeling in every 
mind. They cast a fearful glance at the spot where the bucca- 
neer had disappeared, almost expecting to see him sailing on 
his 'chest in the cool moonshine. The trembling rays glittered 
along the waiters, but all was placid ; and the current dimpled 
over the spot where he had gone down. The party huddled to- 
gether in a little crowd as they repaired homewards ; particularly 
when they passed a lonely field where a man had been mur- 
dered ; and he who had farthest to go and had to complete his 
journey alone, though a veteran sexton, and accustomed, one 



ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK EISIIERMAN. 253 

would tliink to ghosts and goblins, yet went a long way round, 
rather than pass by his own church-yard. 

Wolf ert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of stories 
and notions to ruminate upon. His mind v/as all of a whirl 
with these f reebooting tales ; and then these accounts of pots 
of money and Spanish treasures, buried here and there and 
every where about the rocks and bays of this wild shore, made 
hun almost dizzy. 

"Blessed St. Nicholas!" ejaculated he, half aloud, "is it not 
possible to come upon one of these golden hoards, and so make 
one's self rich in a twinkling. How hard that I must go on, 
delving' and delving, day in and day out, merely to make a 
morsel of bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade might en- 
able me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my Mfe !" 

As he turned over in his thoughts all that he had been told 
of the singular adventure of the black fisherman, his imagina- 
tion gave a totally different complexion to the tal?. He saw in 
the gang of redcaps nothing but a crew of pirates burying their 
'spoils, and his cupidity was once more awakened by the possi- 
bility of at length getting on the traces of some of this lurking 
wealth. Indeed, his infected fancy tinged every thing Avith 
gold. He felt like the greedy inhabitant of Bagdad, when his 
eye had been greased with the magic ointment of the dervise, 
that gave him to see all the treasures of the earth. Caskets of 
buried jewels, chests of ingots, bags of outlandish coins, seemed 
to court him from their concealments, and supphcate him to 
relieve them from their untimely graves. 

On making private inquiries about the grounds said to be 
haunted by father red-cap, he was more and more cofirmed in 
his surmise. He learned that the place had several times been 
visited by experienced money-diggers, who had heard Mud 
Sam's story, though none of them had met with success. On 
the contrary, they had always been dogged with ill luck of 
some kind or other, in consequence, as Wolfert concluded, of 
their not going to work at the proper time, and with the 
proper ceremonials. The last attempt had been made by 
Cobus Quackcnbos, who dug for a whole night and met with 
incredible difficidty, for as fast as he threw one shovel full of 
earth out of the hole, two were thrown in by invisible hands. 
He succeeded so far, however, as to uncover an iron chest, 
when there was a terrible roaring, and ramping, and raging of 
uncouth fig-ures about the hole, and at length a shower of 
blows, dealt by invisible cudgels, that fairly belabored him ofE 



254 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

tlie forbidden ground. This Cobus Quackenbos had declared 
on his death-bed, so that there could not be any doubt of it. 
He was a man that had devoted many years of his life to money- 
digging, and it was thought would have ultimately succeeded, 
had he not died suddenly of a brain fever in the alms-house. 

Wolfert Webber was now in a worry of trepidation and 
impatience; fearful lest some rival adventurer should get a 
scent of the buried gold. He determined privately to seek out 
the negro fisherman and get him to serve as guide to the 
place where he had witnessed the mysterious scene of inter- 
ment. Sam was easily found; for he was one of those old 
habitual beings that live about a neighborhood until they wear 
themselves a place in the public mind, and become, in a man- 
mer, public characters. There was not an unlucky urchin 
about the town that did not know Mud Sam the fisherman, 
and think that he had a right to play his tricks upon the old 
negro. Sam was an amphibious kind of animal, sometliing 
more of a fish than a man; he had led the life of an otter for 
more than half a century, about the shores of the bay, and th6 
fishing grounds of the Sound. He passed the greater part of 
his time on and in the water, particularly about Hell Gate; 
and might have been taken, in bad weather, for one of the 
hobgoblins that used to haunt that strait. There would he be 
seen, at all times, and in all weathers ; sometimes in his skiff, 
anchored among the eddies, or prowling, hke a shark about some 
wreck, where the fish are supposed to be most abundant. 
Sometimes seated on a rock from hour to hour, looming 
through mist and drizzle, hke a solitary heron watching for its 
prey. He was well acquainted with every hole and corner of 
the Sound ; from the Wallabout to Hell Gate, and from Hell 
Gate even unto the Devil's Stepping Stones ; and it was even 
affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river by their chris- 
tian names. 

Wolfert found him at his cabin, v/hich was not much larger 
\than a tolerable dog-house. It was rudely constructed of frag- 
ments of wrecks and drift-wood, and built on the rocky shore, 
at the foot of the old fort, just about what at present forms the 
point of the Battery. A "most ancient and fish-like smell" 
pervaded the place. Oars, paddles, and fishing-rods were lean- 
ing against the wall of the fort ; a net was spread on the sands 
to dry ; a skiff was drawn up on the beach, and at the door of 
his cabin lay Mud Sam himself, indulging in a true negro's 
luxury- sleeping in the sunshine. 



ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 255 

Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's youth- 
ful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had grizzled 
the knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly recollected the 
circumstances, however, for he had often been called up©n to 
relate them, though in his version of the story he differed 
in many points from Peechy Prauw; as is not unfrequently 
the case with authentic historians. As to the subsequent 
researches of money-diggers, Sam knew nothing about them ; 
they were matters quite out of his line ; neither did the cau- 
tious Wolfert care to disturb his thoughts on that point. His 
only wish was to secure the old fisherman as a pilot to the 
spot, and this was readily effected. The long time that had 
intervened since his nocturnal adventure had effaced aU Sam's 
awe of the place, and the promise of a trifling reward roused 
him at once from his sleep and his sunshine. 

The tide v/as adverse to making the expedition by water, 
and WoKert was too impatient to get to the land of promise, 
to wait for its turning ; they set off, therefore, by land. A 
walk of four or five miles brought them to the edge of a wood, 
which at that time covered the gi^eater part of the eastern side 
of the island. It was just beyond the pleasant region of 
Bloomen-dael. Here they struck into a long lane, straggling 
among trees and bushes, very much overgrown with weeds 
and mullein stalks as if but seldom used, and so completely 
overshadowed as to enjoy but a kind of twihght. Wild vines 
entangled the trees and flaunted in their faces ; brambles and 
briars caught their clothes as they passed; the garter-snake 
ghded across their path ; the spotted toad hopped and waddled 
before them, and the restless cat-bird mewed at them from 
every thicket. Had Wolfert Webber been deeply read in 
romantic legend he might have fancied himself entering upon 
forbidden, enchanted ground ; or that these were some of the 
guardians set to keep a watch upon buried treasure. As it 
was, the loneliness of the place, and the wild stories connected 
with it, had their effect upon his mind. 

On reaching the lower end of the lane they found themselves 
near the shore of the Sound, in a kind of amphitheatre, sur- 
roimded by forest tree. The area had once been a grass-plot, 
but was now shagged with briars and rank weeds. At one 
end, and just on the river bank, was a niined building, little 
better than a heap of rubbish, with a stack of chimneys rising 
like a sohtary tower out of the centre. The current of the 



256 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

Sound rushed along just below it, with wildly-gro^vn trees 
drooping their branches into its waves. 

Wolf ert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house of 
father red-cap, and called to mind the story of Peechy Prauw. 
The evening was approaching, and the light falling dubiously 
araong these places, gave a melancholy tone to the scene, well 
calculated to foster any lurking feeling of awe or superstition. 
The night-hawk, wheehng about in the highest regions of the 
air, emitted his peevish, boding cry. The woodpecker gave a 
lonely tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the fire- 
bird,* as he streamed by them with his deep-red plumage, 
seemed like some genius flitting about this region of mystery. 

They now came to an enlosure that had once been a garden. 
It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but was little bet- 
ter than a wilderness of weeds, with here and there a matted 
rose-bush, or a peach or plum tree grown -wild and ragged, 
and covered with moss. At the lower end of the garden they 
passed a kind of vault in the side of the bank, facing the water. 
It had the look of a root-house. The door, though decayed, 
was still strong, and appeared to have been recently patched 
up. WoKert pushed it open. It gave a harsh grating upon its 
hinges, and striking against something like a box, a rattling 
sound ensued, and a skuU rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew 
back shuddering, but was reassured on being informed by Sam 
that this was a family vault belonging to one of the old Dutch 
famihes that owned this estate; an assertion which was cor- 
robrated by the sight of coffins of various sizes piled within. 
Sam had been famihar with all these scenes when a boy, and 
now knew that he could not be far from the place of which 
they were in quest. 

They now made their way to the water's edge, scrambhng 
along ledges of rocks, and having often to hold by shrubs and 
grape-vines to avoid slipping into the deep and hurried stream. 
At length they came to a small cove, or rather indent of the 
shore. It was protected by steep rocks and overshadov/ed by 
a thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be sheltered and 
almost concealed. The beach sloped gradually within the 
cove, but the current swept deep and black and rapid along its 
jutting points. Sam paused ; raised his remnant of a hat, and 
scratched his grizzled poll for a moment, as he regarded this 



* Orchard Creole, 



ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISIJEHMAX. 957 

nook : then suddenly clapping his hands, he stepped exultingly 
forward, and pointing to a large iron ring, stapled firmly in 
the rock, just where a broad shelve of stone furnished a com- 
modious landing-place. It was the very spot where the i-ed- 
caps had landed. Years had changed the more perishable 
features of the scene; but rock and iron yield slowly to the 
influence of time. On looking more narrowly, Wolfert re- 
marked three crosses cut in the rock just above the ring, 
which had no doubt some mysterious signification Old Sam 
now readily recognized the overhanging rock under which Ms 
skiff had been sheltered during the thunder-gust. To follow up 
the course which the midnight gang had taken, however, was 
a harder task. His mind had been so much taken up on that 
eventful occasion by the persons of the drama, as to pay but 
little attention to the scenes; and places looked different by 
night and day. After wandering about for some time, how- 
ever, they came to an opening among the trees which Bam 
thought resembled the place. There was a ledge of rock of 
moderate height like a wall on one side, which Sam thought 
might be the very ridge from which he overlooked the diggers. 
Wolfert examined it narrowly, and at length described three 
crosses similar to those above the iron ring, cut deeply into the 
face of the rock, but nearly obliterated by the moss that had 
gi'own on them. His heart leaped with joy, for he doubted not 
but they were the private marks of the buccaneers, to denote 
the places where their treasure lay buried. All now that 
remained was to ascertain the precise spot; for othermse he 
might dig at random without coming upon the spoil, and he 
has already had enough of such profitless labor. Here, how- 
ever, Sam was perfectly at a loss, and, indeed, perplexed him 
by a variety of opinions; for his recollections were all con- 
fused. Sometimes he declared it must have been at the foot of 
a mulberry tree hard by ; then it was just beside a great white 
stone; then it must have been under a small green knoll, a 
short distance from the ledge of rock : until at length Wolfert 
became as bewildered as liimself . 

The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves over 
the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle together. It was 
evidently too late to attempt anything farther at present ; and, 
indeed, Wolfert had come unprepared with unplements to 
prosecute" his researches. Satisfied, therefore, with having 
ascertained the place, he took note of all its landmarks, that 
he might recognize it again, and set out on his return home- 



258 TALES OF A TRA VIlLLER. 

v,rard, resolved to prosecute this golden enterprise withoiii. 
delay. 

The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed every feel- 
ing being now in some measure appeased, fancy began to wan- 
der, and to conjure up a thousand shapes and chimeras as he 
returned through this haunted region. Pirates hanging in 
chains seemed to swing on every tree, and he almost expected 
to see some Spanish "Don, with his throat cut from ear to ear, 
rising slowly out of the ground, and shaking the ghost of a 
money-bag. 

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and Wol- 
fert's nerves had arrived at so sensitive a state that the flitting 
of a bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling of a nut was 
enough to startle him. As they entered the confines of the 
garden, they caught sight of a figure at a distance advancing 
slowly up one of the walks and bending under the weight of a 
burthen. They paused and regarded him attentively. He wore 
what appeared to be a woollen cap, and still more alarming, of 
a most sanguinary red. The figure moved slowly on, ascended 
the bank, and stopped at the very door of the sepulchral vault. 
Just before entering he looked around. What was the horror 
of Wolfert when he recognized the grizzly visage of the 
drowned buccaneer. He uttered an ejaculation of horror. 
The figure slowly raised his iron fist and shook it w4th a ter^ 
rible manace. Wolfert did not pause to see more, but hurried 
■oif as fast as his legs could carry him, nor was Sam slow in 
■follovidng at his heels, having all his ancient terrors revived. 
Away, then, did they scramble, through bush and brake, 
horribiy frightened at every bramble that tagged at their 
skirts, nor did they pause to iDreathe, until they had blundered 
their way through this perilous wood and had fairly reached 
tlie high-road to the city. 

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could summon courage 
enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much had he been dis- 
mayed by the apparition, whether living dead, of the grizzly 
buccaneer. In the meantime, what a conflict of mind did he 
suffer ! He neglected all his concerns, was moody and restless 
all day, lost his appetite ; wandered in his thoughts and words, 
and committed a thousand blunders. His rest was broken; 
and when he fell asleep, the nightmare, in shape of a huge 
money-bag, sat squatted upon his breast. He babbled about 
incalculable sums ; fancied himself engaged in money digging ; 
threw the bed-clothes right and left, in the idea that he was 



ADVENTURE OF 6r,M, THE BLACK FISIIEJiMAN. 259 

shovelling among the dirt, groped under the bed in quest of 
the treasure, and lugged forth, as he supposed, an inestimable 
pot of gold. 

Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at what 
they concicved a returning touch of insanity. There are two 
family oracles, one or other of which Dutch housewives con- 
sult in all cases of great doubt and perplexity : the dominie 
and the doctor. In the present instance they repaired to the 
doctor. There was at that time a little, dark, mouldy man of 
medicine famous among the old wives of the Manhattoes for 
his skill not only in the healing art, but in all matters of 
strange and mysterious nature. His name was Dr. Knipper- 
liausen, but he was more commonlj^ known by the appellation 
of the High German doctor.* To him did the poor Avomeu 
repair for counsel and assistance touching the mental vagaries 
of Wolfert Webber. 

They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad in his 
dark camblet robe of knowledge, A\dth his black velvet cap, 
after the manner of Boorhaave, Van Helmont, and other medi^ 
cal sages : a pair of green spectacles set in black horn upon liis 
clubbed nose, and poring over a German folio that seemed to 
reflect back the darkness of his physiognomy. The doctor 
listened to their statement of the symptoms of Wolfert's 
malady with profound attention ; but when they came to men- 
tion his raving about buried money, the Uttle man pricked up 
Ms ears. Alas, poor women ! they httle knew the aid they had 
called in. 

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half liis life engaged in seeking 
the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so many a long 
lifetime is wasted. He had passed some years of his youth in 
the Harz mountains of Germany, and had derived much valu- 
able instruction from the miners, touching the mode of seek- 
ing ti*easure buried in the earth. He had prosecuted his 
studies also under a travelhng sage who united all the mys- 
teries of medicine with magic and legerdemain. His mind, 
therefore, had become stored with all kinds of mystic lore : he 
had dabbled a httle in astrology, alchemy, and divination ; 
knew how to detect stolen monej^ and to tell where springs of 
water lay hidden ; in a word, by the dark nature of his knowl- 
edge he had acquired the name of the High German doctor, 
which is pretty nearly equivalent to that of necromancer. The 

* Tbe same, uo doubt, of whom mention is made in the history of Dolph Heyliger. 



260 TALES OF A TBAVELLEB. 

doctor had often heard rumors of treasure being buried ir& 
various parts of the island, and had long been anxious to get 
on the traces of it. No sooner were WoKerfs waking and 
sleeping vagaries confided to him, than he beheld in them the 
confirmed symptoms of a case of money-digging, and lost no 
time in probing it to the bottom. Wolfert had long been 
sorely depressed in mind by the golden secret, and as a family 
physician is a kind of father confessor, he was glad of the 
opportunity of unburthening himself. So far from curing, the 
doctor caught the malady from his patient. The circum- 
stances unfolded to him awakened all his cupidity ; he had not 
a doubt of money being buried somewhere in the neighborhood 
of the mysterious crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the 
search. He informed him that much secrecy and caution, 
must be observed in enterprises of the kind; that money is 
only to be digged for at night ; with certain forms and cere- 
monies ; the burning of drugs ; the repeating of mystic words, 
and above all, that the seekers must be provided with a divin- 
ing rod, which had the wonderful property of pointing to the 
very spot on the surface of the earth under which treasure lay 
hidden. As the doctor had given much of his mind to these 
matters, he charged himself with all the necessary prepara- 
tions, and, as the quarter of the moon was propitious, he 
undertook to have the divining rod ready by a certain night.* 

* The following note was found appended to this paper in the handwriting of 
Mr. Knickerbocker. "There has been much written against the divining rod by 
those light minds Avho are ever ready to scoff at the mysteries of nature, but I 
fully join with Dr. Knipperhausen in giving it my faith. I shall not insist upon its 
efficacy in discovering the concealment of stolen goods, the boundarj'-stones of 
fields, the traces of robbers and murderers, or even the existence of subterraneous 
springs and streams of water ; albeit, I think these properties not easily to be dis- 
credited; but of its potency in discovering vein of precious metal, and hidden sums 
of money and jewels, I have not the least doubt. Some said that the rod turned only 
in the hands of persons who had been born in particular months of the year; hence 
astrologers had recourse to planetary influence when they would procure a talis- 
man. Others declared that the properties of the rod were either an effect of 
chance, or the fraud of the holder, or the work of the devil. Thus sayeth the reve- 
rend Father Gaspard Schott in his Treatise on Magic. ' Proyter hasc et siniilia 
argumenta audacter ego prouuucio vim conversivam virgulae befiu-catae nequa- 
quam naturalem esse, sed vel casa vel fraude virgulam tractantis vel on« diaboli,' 
etc. 

" Georgius Agricula also was of opinion that it was a mere delusion of the devil to 
inveigle the avaricious and unwary into his clutches, and in his treatise ' de re 
Metallica,' lays particular stress on the mysterious words pronounced by those 
persons who employed the divining rod during his time. But I make not a dcmbt 
that the divining rod is one of those secrets of natural magic, the mystery of 
which is to be explained by the sympathies existing betw^een physical things oper- 
ated upon by the planets, and rendered efficacious by the strong faith of the indi- 



ADVbWTUEE OF SA3I, TUE BLACK FISHERMAN. 261 

"Wolierrs heart leaped with joy at having met with so 
learned and able a coadjutor. E\ery thing went on secretly, 
but swimmingly. The doctor had many consultations with 
his patient, and the good women of the household lauded the 
comforting effect of his visits. In the meantime, the wonder- 
ful divining rod, that great key to nature's secrets, was duly 
prepared. The doctor had thumbed over all his books of 
knowledge for the occasion ; and Mud Sam was engaged to take 
them ill his skiff to the scene of enterprise ; to work with spade 
and pick-axe in unearthing the treasure; and to freight his 
bark Avith the weighty spoils they were certain of finding. 

At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous 
undertaking. Before Wolfert left his home he counselled his 
wdfe and da.ughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if he should 
not return during the night. Like reasonable women, on 
being told not to feel alarm, they fell immediately into a panic. 
They saw at once by his maimer that something unusual was 
in agitation; all their fears about the unsettled state of his 
mind were roused with tenfold force : they' hung about him 
entreating him not to expose himself to the night air, but all 
in vain. When Wolfert was once mounted on his hobby, it 
was no easy matter to get him out of the saddle. It was a 
•clear starlight night, when he issued out of the portal of the 
W^ebber palace. He wore a large flapped hat tied under the 
chin with a handkerchief of his daughter's, to secure him from 
the night damp, while Dame Vv ebber threw her long red cloak 
about his shoulders, and fastened it round his neck. 

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and accoutred 
by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy, and sallied forth in 
his camblet robe by way of surtout ; his black velvet cap under 
his cocked hat, a thick clasped book under his arm, a basket of 
drugs and dried herbs in one hand, and in the other the mirac- 
ulous rod of divination. 

The gi-eat church clock struck ten as Wolfert and the doctor 
passed by the church-yard, and the watchman bawled in 
hoarse voice a long and doleful "All's well!" A deep sleep 
had ab'eady fallen upon this primitive little burgh: nothing 

vid'ial. Let tlie divining' rod be properly gathered at the proper time of the moon, 
•cut into the proper form, used with the necessary ceremonies, and with a perfect 
faith in its efficacy, and I can confidently recommend it to my fellow-citizens as an 
•infallible means of discovering the various places on the island of the Manhattoes 
TvUere treasure hath been buried in the olden time. 

"D. K." 



0.3.3 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

disturbed this awful silence, excepting now and then the bar£ 
of some profligate night- walking dog, or the serenade of Some 
roma^ntic cat. It is true, Wolfert fancied more than once 
that he heard the sound of a stealthy footfall at a distance 
behind them ; but it might have been merely the echo of their 
own steps echoing along the quiet streets. He thought also at 
one time that he saw a tall figure skulking after them— stop- 
ping when they stopped, and moving on as they proceeded;, 
but the dim and uncertain lamp light threw such vague 
gleams and shadows, that this might all have been mere 
fancy. 

They found the negro fisherman w^aiting for them, smoking 
his pipe in the stern of his skiff, which was moored just in 
front of his little cabin. A pick-axe and spade v\'ere lying in 
the bottom of the boat, with a dark lanthorn, and a stone jug 
of good Dutch courage, in which honest Sam no doubt, put 
even more faith than i)r. Knipperhausen in his drugs. 

Thus then did these three worthies embark in their cockle- 
shell of a skiff upofi this nocturnal expedition, with a wisdom 
and valor equalled only by the three wise men of Gotham, who 
went to sea in a bowl. The tide was rising and running rap- 
idly up the Sound. The current bore them along, almost with- 
out the aid of an oar. The profile of the town lay all in 
shadow. Here and there a light feebly glimmered from some 
sick chamber, or from the cabin window of some vessel at 
anchor in the stream. Not a cloud obscured the deep starry 
firmament, the lights of which wavered on the surface of the 
placid river ; and a shooting meteor, streaking its pale course 
in the very direction they were taking, was interpreted by the 
doctor into a most propitious omen. 

In a little while they glided by the point of Corlears Hook 
with the rural inn which had been the scene of such night ad- 
ventures. The family had retired to rest, and the house vras 
dark and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him as they 
passed the point where the buccaneer had disappeared. He- 
pointed it out to Dr. Knipperhausen. While regarding it, they 
thought they saw a boat actually lurking at the very place ;: 
but the shore cast such a shadow over the border of the water 
that they could discern nothing distinctly. They had not pro- 
ceeded far when they heard the low sounds of distant oars, as 
if cautiously pulled. Sam plied his oars with redoubled vigor, 
and knowing all the eddies and currents of the stream, soon 
left their followers, if such they v%'ere, far astern. In a Httle 



ADVEXrURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISTIEUMAN. 263 

while they stretched across Turtle bay and Kip's bay, then 
shrouded themselves in the deep shadows of the Manhattan 
shore, and glided swiftly along, secure from observation. At 
length Sam shot his skiff into a little cove, darklj^ embowered 
by trees, and made it fast to the well known iron ring. They 
now landed, and lighting the lanthorn, gathered their various 
implements and proceeded slowly through the bushes. Every 
sound startled them, even that of their footsteps among the 
dry leaves ; and the hooting of a screech owl, from the shat- 
tered chimney of father red-cap's ruin, made their blood run 
cold. 

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note of the land- 
marks, it was some time before they could find the open place 
among the trees, where the treasure was supposed to be buried. 
At length they came to the ledge of rook ; and on examining it& 
surface by the aid of the lanthorn, Wolfert recognized the 
three mystic crosses. Their hearts beat quick, for the moment- 
ous trial was at hand that was to determine their hopes. 

The lanthorn was now held by Wolfert Webber, while the 
doctor produced the divining rod. It was a forked twig, one 
end of which was grasped firmly in each hand, while the 
centre, forming tlie stem, pointed perpendicularly upwards. 
The doctor moved this wand about, within a certain distance 
of the earth, from place to place, but for some time without 
any effect, while Wolfert kept the light of the lanthorn turned 
full upon it, and watched it with the most breathless interest. 
At length the rod began slowly to turn. The doctor grasped 
it with greater earnestness, his hand trembling with the agita- 
tion of his mind. The wand continued slowly to turn, until at 
length the stem had reversed its position, and pointed perpen- 
dicularly downward; and remained pointing to one spot as^ 
fixedly as the needle to the pole. 

"This is the spot!" said the doctor in an almost inaudible 
tone. 

WoKert's heart was in his throat. 

" Shall I dig?" said Sam, grasping the spade. 

'^ Pots tousends, no!" replied the little doctor, hastily. He 
now ordered liis companions to keep close by him and to main- 
tain the most inflexible silence. That certain precautions must 
be taken, and ceremonies used to prevent the evil spirits which 
keep about buried treasure from doing them any harm. The 
doctor then drew a circle round the place, enough to include 
the whole party. He next gathered dry twigs and leaves, and 



264 TALES OF A TRAVEL LHJU. 

made a fire, upon which he threw certain drugs and dried 
heibs which he had brought in his basket. A thick smoke 
rose, diffusing a potent odor, savoring marvellously of brim- 
stone and assafoetida, which, hoAvever grateful it might be to 
the olfactory nerves of spirits, nearly strangled poor Wolfert, 
and produced a fit of coughing and wheosing that made the 
whole grove resound. Doctor Knipperhausen then unclasped 
the volume which he had brought under his arm, which was 
printed in red and black eharacters in German text. While 
Wolfert held the lanthorn, the doctor, by the aid of his spec- 
tacles, read off several forms of conjuration in Latin and Ger- 
man. He then ordered Sam to seize the pick-axe and proceed 
to work. The close-bound soil gave obstinate signs of not hav- 
ing been disturbed for many a year.' After having picked his 
way through the surface, Sam came to a bed of sand and 
gravel, which he threw briskly to right and left with the spade. 

"Hark!" said Wolfert, who fancied he heard a trampling 
among the dry leaves, and a rustling through the bushes. Sam 
paused for a moment, and they listened. No footstep was 
near. The bat flitted about them in silence; a bird roused 
from its nest by the ligiit which glared up among the trees, 
flew circling about the flame. In the profound stillness of the 
woodland they could distinguish the current rippling along the 
rocky shore, and the distant murmuring and roaring of Hell 
Gate. 

Sam continued his labors, and had already digged a consider- 
able hole. The doctor stood on the edge, reading formulae 
every now and then from the black letter volume, or thro\mig 
more drugs and herbs upon the fire ; while Wolfert bent anxi- 
ously over the pit, watching every stroke of the spade. Any 
one witnessing the scene thus strangely lighted up by fire, 
lanthorn, and the reflection of Wolfert's red mantle, might 
have mistaken the little doctor for some foifl magician, busied 
in liis incantations, and the grizzled-headed Sam as some swart 
goblin, obedient to his commands. 

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon something 
that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated to Wolfert^s heart. 
He struck his spade again. 

' '"Tis a chest," said Sam. 

"Fifll of gold, I'll warrant it!" cried Wolfert, clasping his 
hands with rapture. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound from over- 
head caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo! by the 



ADVE2^TUIIE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 265 

expiring light of the fire he beheld, just over the disk of the 
rock, what appeared to be the grim visage of the drowned 
buccaneer, grinning hideously down upon him. 

Wolf ert gave a loud cry and let .fall the lanthorn. His panic 
communicated itself to his companions. The negro leaped out 
of the hole, the doctor dropped his book and basket and began 
to pray in German. All was horror and confusion. The fire 
vras scattered about, the lanthorn extinguished. In their hur- 
ry-skurry they ran against and confounded one another. They 
fancied a legion of hobgoblins let loose upon them, and that 
they saw by the fitful glean,3 of the scattered embers, strange 
figures in red caps gibbering and ramping around them. The 
doctor ran one way, Mud Sam another, and Wo^fert made for 
the water side. As he plunged struggling onwards through 
bush and brake, he heard the tread of some one in pursuit. 
He scrambled frantically forward. The footsteps gained uj)on 
liim. He felt himself grasped by his cloak, when suddenly his 
pursuer was attacked in turn: a fierce fight and struggle 
ensued — a pistol was discharged that lit up rock and bush for a 
period, and showed two figures grappling together — all was 
then darker than ever. The contest continued— the com- 
batants clenched each other, and panted and groaned, and 
rolled among the rocks. There was snarhng and growling as 
of a cur, mingled with curses in which Wolfert fancied he 
could recognize the voice of the buccaneer. He would fain 
have fled, but he was on the brink of a precipice and could go 
no farther. 

Again the parties were on their feet ; again there was a tug- 
ging and struggling, as if strength alone could decide the com- 
bat, until one was precipitated from the brow of the cliff and 
sent headlong into the deep stream that Y\^hirled below. Wol- 
fert heard the plunge, and a kind of strangling bubbling 
murmur, but the darkness of the night hid every thing from 
siew, and the swiftness of the current swept every thing 
instantly out of hearing. One of the combatants was disposed 
of, but whether friend or foe Wolfert could not Irell, nor 
whether they might not both be foes. He heard the survivor 
approach and his terror revived. He saw, where the profile of 
the rocks rose against the horizon, a human form advancing. 
He could not be mistaken : it must be the buccaneer. Whither 
should he fly ! a precipice was on one side ; a murderer on the 
other. The enemy approached: he was close at hand. Wol- 
fert attempted to let himself down the face of the cliif . His 



266 TALES GF A TllAVhLLKU. 

cloak caught in a thorn that grew on the Qd^Q. He was jerked 
from off his feet and hekl danghng in the air, half choaked by 
the string with which his careful wife had fastened the gar- 
ment round his neck. Wolfert thought his last moment had 
arrived; already had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, 
when the string broke and he tumbled down the bank, bump- 
ing from rock to rock and bush to bush, and leaving the red 
cloak fluttering like a bloody banner in the air. 

It was a long while before Wolfert came to himself. Y>^hen 
he opened his eyes the ruddy streaks of the morning were 
already shooting up the sky. He found himself lying in the 
bottom of a boat, grievously battered. He attempted to sit up 
but was too sore and stiff to move. A voice requested him in 
friendly accents to lie still. He turned *his eyes toward the 
speaker : it was Dirk Waldron. He had dogged the party, at 
the earnest request of Dame Webber and her daughter, who, 
with the laudable curiosity of their sex, had pried into the 
secret consultations of Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had been 
completely distanced in following the light skiff of the fisher- 
man, and had just come in time to rescue the poor money- 
digger from his pursuer. 

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and Mud 
Sam severally found their way back to the Manhattoes, each 
having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. As to poor Wol- 
fert, instead of returning in triumph, laden Avith bags of gold, 
he Avas borne home on a shutter, followed by a rabble route of 
curious urchins. His Avif e and daughter saw the dismal pageant 
from a distance, and alarmed the neighborhood with their cries : 
they thought the poor man had suddenly settled the great debt 
of nature in one of his wayward moods. Finding him, hov.^- 
ever, still living, they had him conveyed speedily to bed, and 
a jury of old matrons of the neighborhood assembled to deter- 
mine hoAv he should be doctored. The whole town was in a 
buzz Avith the story of the money-diggers. Many repaired to 
the scene of the previous night's adventures : but though they 
found the very place of the digging, they di^coA^ered nothing 
that compensated for their trouble. Some «ay they found tlie 
fragments of an oaken chest and ar iron puu lid, which savored 
strongly of hidden money ; and tn.it ii . the old family A^ault 
there Avere traces of biles and boxes, but this is all very 
dubious. 

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this day been 
discoA^ered : Avhether any treasure was eA^er actually buried at 



ADVEXTUUE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHEIIMAN. 267 

that place ; whether, if so. it was carried of: at night by those 
who had buried it ; or whether it still remains there under the 
guardianship of gnomes and spirits until it shall be properljr 
sought for, is all matter of conjecture. For my part I incline 
to the latter opinion ; and make no doubt that. great sums lie 
buried, both there and in many other parts of this island and 
its neighborhood, ever since the times of the buccancei^ and the 
Dutch colonists ; and I would earnestly recommend the sea,rcli 
after them to such of my fellow citizens as are not engaged in 
any other speculations. 

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who and 
what was the strange man of the seas who had domineered 
over the httle f ]*aternity at Corlears Hook for a time ; disap- 
peared so strangely, and reappeared so fearfully. Some sup- 
posed him a smuggler stationed at that place to assist his 
comrades in landing their goods among the rocky coves of the 
island. Others that he was a buccaneer ; one of the ancient 
comrades either of Kidd or Bradish, returned to convey away 
treasures formerly hidden in the vicinity. The only circum- 
stance that throws any tiling Hke a vague light over tliis 
mysterious matter is a report that prevailed of a strange for- 
eign-built shallop, with the look of a x)iccaroon, ha\ang been 
seen hovering about the Sound for several days without land- 
ing or reporting herself, though boats were seen going to and 
from her at night : and that she was seen standing out of the 
mouth of the harbor, in the gray of the dawn after the catas- 
trophe of the money-diggers. 

I must not omit to mention another report, also, which I 
confess is rather apocr^/phal, of the buccaneer, who was sup- 
posed to have been drowned, being seen before daybreak, with 
a lanthorn in liis hand, seated astride his great sea-chest and 
sailing through Hell Gate, which just thon began to roar and 
bellow with redoubled fury. 

While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and 
rumor, poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowful in his bed, bruised 
in body and sorely beaten down in mind. His wife and daugh- 
ter did all they could to bind up his wounds both corpoi-al and 
spiritual. The good old dame never stirred from his bedside, 
wliere she sat knitting from morning till night; while liis- 
daughter busied herself about him with the fondest care. Nor 
did they lack assistance from abroad. Whatever may be said 
of the desertions of friends in distress, they had no complaint 
of the kind to make. Not an old wife of the neighborhood but 



2(38 TALE^ OF A TUAVELLIAl. 

abandoned her work to crowd to the mansion of Wolfert 
Webber, inquire after his health and the particulars of his 
story. Not one came, moreover, without her Httle pipkin of 
pennyroyal, sage, balm, or other herb-tea, delighted at an 
opportunity of signalizing her kindness and her doctorship. 
What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert undergo, and all in 
vain. It was a moving sight to behold him wasting away day 
]jy day ; growing thinner and thinner and ghastlier and ghast- 
lier, and staring with rueful visage from under an old patch- 
work counterpane upon the jury of matrons kindly assembled 
to sigh and groan and look unhappy around him. 

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed a ray 
of sunshine into this house of mourning. He came in with 
cheery look and manly spirit, and tried to reanimate the 
expiring heart of the poor money-digger, but it was all in vain. 
Wolfert was completely done over. If any'thing was wanting 
to complete his despair, it was a notice-served upon him in the 
midst of his distress, that the corporation were about to run a 
new street through the very centre of his cabbage garden. He 
saw nothing before him but poverty and ruin ; his last reliance, 
the garden of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and what 
then was to become of his poor wife and child ? 

His eyes fiUed with tears as they followed the dutiful Amy 
out of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was seated beside 
Mm ; Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after liis daughter, and 
for the first tune since his illness broke the silence he had main- 
tained. 

"I am going !" said he, shaking his head feebly, "and when I 
am gone — my poor daughter — " 

"Leave her to me, father!" said Dirk, manfuUy — "111 take 
care of her !" 

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping 
youngster, and saw there was none better able to take care of a 
v/oman. 

' ' Enough , " said he, ' ' she is yours ! — and now fetch me a law- 
yer — let me make my will and die. " 

The lawyer was ' "ought — a dapper, busthng, round-headed 
little man, Roorback (or RoUebuck, as it was pronounced) by 
name. At the sight of ] im the women broke into loud lamen- 
tations, for they looked upon the signing of a will as the signing 
of a death-warrant. Wolfert made a feeble motion for them to 
be silent. Poor Amy buried her face and her grief in the bed- 
curtain. Dame V/ebber resumed her knitting to hide her dis- 



ADVENTURE OF SAM, THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 269 

tress, which betrayed itself, however, in a pellucid tear, that 
trickled silently down and hung at the end of her peaked nose; 
while the cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, 
played with the good (lame's ball of worsted, as it rolled about 
the floor. 

Wolfert lay on his back, his nightcap drawn over his fore- 
head ; his eyes closed ; his whole visage the picture of death. 
He begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his end approach- 
ing, and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer nibbed his 
pen, spread out his paper, and prepared to write. 

"I give and bequeath, '' said Wolfert, faintly, "my small 
farm — " 

"What— all!" exclaimed the lawayer. 

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the lawj^er. 

"Yes— all" said he. 

" What ! all that gi-eat patch of land with cabbages and sun^ 
flowers, which the corporation is just going to run a main street 
through?" 

"The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh and sinking 
back upon his pillow. 

''I wish him joy that inherits it!" said the little lawyer, 
chuckling and rubbing his hands involuntarily. 

"What do you mean?" said Wolfert, again opening his eyes. 

"That he'll be one of the richest men in the place !" cried little 
Rollebuck. 

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the threshold 
of existence : his eyes again lighted up ; he raised himself in his 
bed, shoved back his red woi-sted nightcap, and stared broadly 
at the lawj^er. 

"You don't say so!" exclaimed he. 

"Faith, but I do!" rejoined the other. "Why, when that 
great field and that piece of meadow come to be laid out in 
streets, and cut up into snug building lots—why, whoever owns 
them need not pull off his hat to the patroon !" 

"Say you so?" cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out of 
bed, "why, then I think I'll not make my will yet!" 

To the surpris of everybody the dying man actually re- 
covered. The vitux spark which had glimmered faintly in the 
socket, received fresh fuel from the oil of gladness, which the 
little lawyer poured int j his soul. It once more burnt up into 
a flame. 

Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body of a 
spirit-broken man ! In a few days Wolfert left his room ; in a 
few .lays more liis table was covered v/ith deeds, plans of street^ 



'270 TALES OF A TRAVELLER. 

and building lots. Little Rollebuck was constantly with him, 
his right-hand man and adviser, and instead of making his 
will, assisted in the more agreeable task of making his fortune. 
In fact, Wolfert Webber was one of those worthy Dutch bur- 
ghers of the Manhattoes whose fortunes have been made, in a 
manner, in spite of themselves ; who have tenaciously held on 
to their hereditary acres, raising turnips and cabbages about 
the skirts of the city, hardly able to make both ends meets, 
until the corporation has cruelly driven streets through their 
-abodes, and they have suddenly awakened out of a lethargy, 
and, to their astonishment, found themselves rich men. 

Before many months had elapsed a great bustling street 
passed through the very centre of the Webber garden, just 
where Wolfert had dreamed of finding a treasure. His golden 
dream was accomplished ; he did indeed find an unlooked-for 
source of Avealth ; for, when his paternal lands were distributed 
into building lots, and rented out to safe tenants, instead of 
producing a paltry crop of cabbages, they returned him an 
abundant crop of rents ; insomuch that on quarter day, it was 
a goodly sight to see liis tenants rapping at his door, frcm 
morning to night, each with a little round-bellied bag of money, 
the golden produce of the soil. 

The ancient mansion of his forefathers was still kept up, but 
instead of being a little yellow-fronted Dutch house in a gar- 
den, it now stood boldly in the midst of a street, the grand 
house of the neighborhood ; for Wolfert enlarged it with a wing 
on each side, and a cupola or tea room on top, where he might 
climb up and smoke his pipe in hot weather ; and in the course 
of time the whole mansion was overrun by the chubby -faced 
progeny of Amy Webber and Dirk Waldron. 

As Wolfert waxed old and rich and corpulent, he also set up 
a great gingerbread-colored carriage drawn by a pair of black 
Flanders mares with tails that swept the ground ; and to com- 
memorate the origin of his greatness he had for a ci'est a full- 
blown cabbage painted on the pannels, with the pithy motto 
0ll£s Bopf: that is to say, all head; meaning thereby that he 
had risen by sheer head-work. 

To fill the measure of his greatness, in the fullness of time 
the renowned Eamm Eapelye slept with his fathers, and Wol- 
fert Webber succeeded to the leathern-bottomed arm-chair in 
the inn parlor at Corlears Hook ; where he long reigned greatly 
honored and respected, insomuch that he w^as never known lo 
tell a story without its being believed, nor to utter a joke .with- 
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cloth, gilt top, iglS.OO. 



Lovell's Series of E,ed Line 
Poets, rJO Volumes of all the hest 
works of the woikVs great Poets,. 
Tennyson, Shakespeare, Milton, Mere- 
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Dante, &c., $1.25 per volume. 
JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers. 

14 AND IG Ve-sey Street, Kew York, 



>^ 



LOVELL'S LIBRARY. 



O.A.T.A.IL.OGt-XJE. 



85. Shandott Sells, by WilliMri Black. 20 

86. Monica, by The Duchess 10 

87. Heart and Science, by Wilkie C'^1- 

lin.-; 20 

83. The Golden Calf, by Miss M. E. 

Braddon. 20 

89. The Dean's Daughter, by Mrs. 

G.re 20 

90. Mrs. Geoffrey, by Thi; Duche68..5!9 

91. Pickwick Papers. Part 1 20 

Pickwick Papers, Part II 20 

92. Airy Fa ryLiiian, by TheDuchesn.20 

93. McLeod of Dare, by Wm. Black. 20 

94. Tempest Toased, by Tiltou, P'tl.^0 
Tem;.est Tossed, by Tilton, P'tII.20 

95. Letter? from High Latitudes, by 

Lord Dufferin 20 

96. Gideon Floyce, by Henry W. Lacy. 20 

97. India and Ceylon, by E. Haeckle. .20 

98. The Gypsy Queen, by Hugh De 

NormHni 20 

99. The Admiral's Ward, by Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

100. Niiaport, by E. L. Bynner, P'tL.la 
Nimport, byE. L. Bvuner, P"t II. . 15 

101. Harrv Holbrooke, by Sir H. Ran- 

dall Roberts 20 

102. Triton-s, by E. Lassetcr Eynner, 

Part I 15 

Tritons, by E. Lasseter Bynner, 

Part II 15 

103 Let Nothing You Dismay, by Wal- 
ter Besar.t 10 

104. Lady Audiey's Secret, by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

105. Woman's Place To-Day, by Mrs. 

j Lillie Devereux Blake SO 

! 106. Dunallan, by Kennedy, P^rt 1...15 
j , Dunallan. by Kennedy, P.irt II.. 15 

107. Housekeeping and Home-Making, 

' bv Marion Harland 15 

I 108. No New Thins, by W. E. Norri3..20 

109. The SpoopendykePapern, by Stan- 
ley Huntley 20 

I 110. False Hopes, by Goldwin Smith.. 15 
I 111. Labor and Capital, by Edward 

i Kellogg 20 

! 112. Wanda, by Or.ida, Part 1 15 

i Wanda, by Onida, Part II .15 

113. More Words About the Bible, by 

Rev. Jas. S. Bush 20 

I 114. Monsieur Lccoq, byGaboriau.P't 1.20 
MonsieurLecoq,byGaboriau.P't II .20 

115. All Outline of Irish History, by 

i Justin H. McCarthy 10 

I 116. The Lerouge Case, bv Gaboriau . . 20 

117. Paul Clifford, by Lord Lytton...20 
! 118. A New Lease of Life, by About. .20 

' 119. Bourbon Lillies 20 

I 120. Other Peoples' Money, by Emile 

! Gaboriau 20 

1 121. The Lady of Lyons, by Lord Ljtton. 10 
! 123. Ameline de Bourg 15 



133. 
Ui. 

125. 
ISo. 

127. 

U'3. 
129. 
130. 
,131. 
138. 

133. 



134. 
135. 

136. 
137. 
1.38. 
139. 
140. 
141. 
U2. 

143. 

144. 



145. 

146. 
147. 
148. 
149. 
150. 

151. 

232. 
153. 



1.78. 

l->9. 
100. 

\61. 

m. 

104. 
105. 
166, 



A Sea Quepn, by W. Clark RnBsell.SO 
The Ladies Lindores, by Mrs. 

Oliphaiit 20 

Haunted HoartP,by J. P. Simpson. 10 
Loys, Lord Beresford, by The 

Duchess 20 

Under Two Fl.igs, by Ouida, P't I 20 
Under Two Flacs, by Ouida,P't 11.2(1 

Moaey, by Lord Ly tton 10 

In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau. 20 

India, by Max Muller 20 

Jets and Flashes 20 

Moonshine and Marguerites, by 

The Duchess. 10 

Mr. Scarborough's Family, by 

Anthony Trollope, Part 1 25 

Mr. Scarborough's Family, by 

Anthony TroUope, Part II 16 

Arden, by A. Mary F. RobertB...15 
The Tower of Percemont, by 

George Sand 20 

Yolande, by W;:i. I'.lack ... 20 

Cruel London, by .ToPtph Hatton.iiO 
The Gilded Clique, by Gaboriau... 20 
P.ke County Foiks, by E. H Mott..20 
Crifket on ihe Hearth, byDicknns.lO 

Henry Esmond, by Thackeray 20 

Strange Adventures of a Phaeton, 

by Wm. Black 20 

Denis Duval, by W. M.Thnckeray.lO 
Old Curiosity Shop, by Charles 

Dickens, Part I 15 

Old Curiosity Shop, by Charles 

Dickens, Part II 15 

Ivanhoe, bj f?co',t. Part 1 15 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, P.irt II 15 

White Wntr«. by Wm. Black 20 

The Sketch Book, by Irving.... 30 
Catheriue, by W. M. Thackeray tO 

Janet 8 Repentance, by Eliot 10 

Barnaby RuJge, Dickens Part 1.15 
Barnaby Ruds<e. Dickens P't 11.15 
Felix Holt, by Geoii^e Eliot.. .20 

Rich.'heu by Lord Ly tton 10 

SanriFc, bv Wm. Black PaitI...15 
Sunrise, by Wm. Black Part II.. 15 
Tour of the World in K) Days. . . .20 

Mj'steryof Orcival. Giiboriau 20 

Lovel, The Widower, by W. M. 

ThacKeray 10 

The Romantic Adveiuuics of a 

Milkmaid, bv Tho-. Hardy 1^ 

David i:oppcrfield. Part 1 20 

David Copperfield, Part II. 20 

Charlotte Temple, . 10 , 

Rie.izi. by L^rd Lvtton. Part 1. . 10 
Rienzi, by Lord Lvtton. Part IT 10 
Promise of Marriage, Gaboriau .25 
Faith and Unfaith, The Duchess 15 
The Happy Man, Samuel Lover. 10 
i3arry Lyndon, by Thackeray. .20 
Eyre'.s Acquittal, Helen JIatherH 10 
20.000 Leagues under the Sea, by 



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016 117 726 A ' # 






